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THE. LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copie* Received 

AUG 27 1903 

Copyright Entry 

CLASS A, XXe.No 

fe 1 / 3 1 - 

tORV B. 



Copyright, 1903, by 
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. 


Published, October, 1903 


THE ROSE OF JOY 


CHAPTER I 


T HE night was warm, but very dark. It 
seemed to Maurice Hamilton that the carriage 
had moved on through the darkness at that 
same pace for hours. The light faded gradually, the last 
village was left behind ; they drove deeper into the lonely 
pastoral country. Fields and their hedges changed from 
green to gray, then from gray to black, until night 
closed in and he could see no more of the landscape, but 
watched instead the round spot of light made by the 
carriage lamp at his right-hand side. The circle of con- 
tracted radiance traveled along with them, touching a 
bush here, a stone there, giving very little indication of 
the way they went. 

He put his head out of the window at last, and called 
to the driver, “ Are we never going to arrive anywhere 
to-night ? ” The man grunted in reply and touched up 
his horses. Presently the spot of light swam across a 
milestone, where Hamilton read the inscription, “ 4% 
miles.” 

He leaned back again in the carriage and stared idly 
into the darkness. Somewhere in the distance a lighted 
window showed like a red star. “ There is a house,” he 
thought. “ I shall go early to-morrow ; it may be her 
window.” 

The young man had reached an unfortunate period in 


4 THE ROSE OF JOY 

his romance: the lacty had married another. His bitter- 
ness of feeling had at first been very keen. Her new j 
home was far away, and they had never met since the 
marriage; now, however, nearly three years afterwards, 
he found himself in that part of the country, and re- 
solved to go and see her again. It was a little damping 
to hear that she was “ very happy ” ( as her mother ex- 
pressed it) “ in her husband and her home,” but he felt 
that now he might rise to the generosity of admiring 
both. Still this slow approach in the darkness strained 
his nerves; he could not even see what sort of country 
it was. 

The driver pulled his horses to a stand and leaned 
down to call out, “ We’re near the inn now, sir, jest at 
the top o’ the hill.” 

“ All right, go on,” said Hamilton, and they crawled 
on once more. 66 It’s like a funeral,” he sighed, with im- 
patience, and the words “ dead Love ” mixed in his 
thoughts with the plodding sound of the tired horses’ 
feet. 

At last the spot of light that traveled with the carriage 
was merged in a broad shaft of light that came from an 
open door. It streamed across a few flagstones, out a 
little way into the night, then stopped, and nothing more 
was visible. 

“ Is this Burrie Bush? ” called the driver, to a man 
who appeared at the inn door when the carriage drew 
up. 

u It is,” was the reply, and Hamilton gladly jumped 
out and asked if they could be put up for the night. 


CHAPTER ONE 5 

The landlord was not expansive, but the wife came 
hurrying to the door, full of assurances that she could 
provide man and beast with every comfort. 

“ We’ve only two of the quietest commercial gentle- 
men in the coffee-room, sir, if you’d go in there,” she 
said. 

Hamilton stood under the lamp in the narrow passage 
by the taproom door. The light fell sharply on his 
smooth, thin face, with its high nose and delicate mouth 
— a young face, but marked just then by lines of grief 
and unrest. He replied to the woman coldly, “ He 
wanted nothing to eat — it was too late. He would go to 
his room at once if it was ready.” 

“ You’d best have something to drink, and go to bed, 
sir. We’ve a room aired now,” she said, glancing at 
his face. 

She showed him upstairs to a half-lighted, fusty par- 
lor, and in a few minutes returned with candles and a 
tray. He was standing with his back to the door, gaz- 
ing gloomily at a stuffed hawk on the chimney-piece, 
and he gave a deep sigh as she came in. Then, nodding 
silent assent to all her explanations, asked her suddenly, 
as he filled his glass : 

“Does — does a Mrs. Crawford live here?” 

“ Crawford? ” she said. “ There’s a Captain Craw- 
ford, sir. Yes, Mrs. Crawford, too — his wife — a young 
lady — very pretty, sir.” 

“ Yes ” — he gulped the last of his liquor and set down 
the glass. “ Does she — do they — live far from here? ” 

M Dear, no, sir ! Quite close at hand — the house with 


6 THE ROSE OF JOY 

the high wall that you passed on your left coming up 

like.” 

44 I saw nothing ; the night is too dark.” 

The woman looked as if a little encouragement would 
have made her say a great deal more, but he did not 
give it, so she took up the tray, wished him good-night, 
and left the room. 

44 Hamilton is the name,” she said to the barmaid. 
“ An’ he’s inquiring after Mrs. Crawford — the Captain’s 
leddy.” 

“ Oh ! ” said the other, 46 it’s hardly the time for her 
to be receiving gentlemen.” 

46 This one looks to have more stuff in him than the 
Captain,” said the landlady reflectively. 44 He’s more 
of the soldier like.” 

The barmaid, who was round and rosy, looked ear- 
nestly at her own reflection in the blurred mirror. 
44 May be easy that,” she said. 

44 He’s a dear, though, the Captain,” pursued the 
landlady. 44 Irishman or no.” 

She turned an eye on the barmaid, who, still looking 
in the glass, answered occultly, 44 Maybe ” ; then, after 
a pause, as she turned to swipe a beery circle from the 
counter beside her, 44 Gentlemen is -fine sand,” she said. 

44 They are that,” said the landlady. The aphorism 
seemed to content them both. 

44 Young, but sad-like,” said the landlady. 44 A chop 
would do him good, I’m thinking.” 

44 Jest raw indigestion if he’s dined already,” said the 
barmaid, with a sigh. 


7 


CHAPTER ONE 

The newcomer meanwhile, whether “ fine sand ” or 
not, was slow of falling asleep. He heard all the final 
noises of the inn : the last toper shambled out into the 
night ; the quiet commercial gentlemen came upstairs ; 
the doors down below were shut: there was a pushing 
back of chairs, a banging of shutters on the lower win- 
dows; then silence; then snores; then, at last, he 
slept. 

A sudden dreadful jangle from an eight-day clock in 
the parlor awoke him with a start. 

“ Three o’clock — I’ve been asleep after all,” he 
thought. 

When the last whir from the clock had died away he 
lay wide awake, aware of the intense, motionless still- 
ness. The night air blew in warm from the open win- 
dow, but carried not a sound upon it, till suddenly he 
heard a footstep on the road below — a light, frightened, 
scurrying step it was. Then at the door of the inn came 
a rattle which awakened no response — another — a woman 
evidently knocked, whose bare hands could not make 
noise enough; still no answer. 

She made another attempt, this time knocking on the 
shutters of the window underneath his own. 

Hamilton jumped up and looked out. He could just 
discern a round white face below the window. 

“ What do you want? ” he asked. “ Can’t you make 
the people hear you ? ” 

“ Oh, I want Mrs. Reid, sir, and a man an’ horse for 
the doctor — it’s the mistress — Mistress Crawford, sir — 
took real bad— it’s that sudden — she ” 


8 THE ROSE OF JOY 

But here the window below was thrown up, and Mrs. 
Reid cried from within: 

“ Is’t you, Lizzie ? Sic a start ! What ? It’s the 
mistress — dearie me — before her time, too — yes, John 
’ll go himself. I’ll on wi’ some clothes, an’ come up wi’ 
ye the noo.” 

Hamilton drew in his head abruptly. He stood by 
the window till he heard the two women go off together, 
scraps of significant gossip floating up as they hurried 
away ; then he heard the clatter of a horse being led out 
of tRe yard — a plunge in the darkness, and off it went; 
he listened until the sound of the galloping hoofs died 
away in the far distance. 

Again he leaned out of the window and stared into 
the night. The warm air he breathed was very pure, 
laden with a faint scent of autumn clover; the darkness 
now was less intense — he could trace a faint white line of 
road, and the dim bulk of the land against the dim sky. 

He turned, sighing, and flung himself down on the 
bed. 44 My poor Mollie — my poor Mollie,” he said to 
himself, and after passing half an hour or so in reflec- 
tion that may, perhaps, be left to the romantic fancy of 
the reader, he was surprised by the morning to find that 
he had been asleep. 

He ate his breakfast to the accompaniment of the 
landlady’s tongue, receiving from her fuller particulars 
of young Mrs. Crawford’s illness than he at all desired. 

4 4 But a nice little girl, sir — a very nice baby, though 
so small — blue eyes like the Captain, sir.” 

With this comforting assurance, and hearing that the 


CHAPTER ONE 9 

mother too was well, he paid his bill, and got into the 
carriage to continue his j ourney . 

“ You won’t be going up to the house to-day , sir? ” 
said the landlady, “ though the Captain’s wonderful 
calm.” 

“ No, not to-day,” he answered. 

A few yards from the inn door he turned his head 
abruptly away as they passed a house standing within 
a walled garden by the roadside. 

It was a fresh morning, the wind blew in his face like 
a breath from heaven, and, young as he was, and mis- 
erable as he thought himself to be, he could not help 
noticing that the cheerful business of the world was all 
begun again with the new day. The little village houses 
that he passed had opened their doors to the sun. 


CHAPTER II 


N EARLY twenty years after the foregoing 
incident, the same, or I should rather say a 
very different, man came again to the same 
place. Time in such localities makes few changes. 

To the eye of a stranger it was but a forlorn village 
still, lost almost in the swell and monotony of the sur- 
rounding land. The old road from Edinburgh passed 
above the village, “ the king’s highway ” that ran on 
to London once. 

There was a single street, very steep, so that all the 
houses appeared to be climbing earnestly upwards. The 
place was too small to have a church of its own, but had 
now a small schoolhouse and two shops. The old inn 
stood as if it had been the first of the climbing houses 
to arrive at the top. The door opened wide off the road 
— the old-fashioned windows looked out full upon it. 
There was still the same signboard hanging above the 
door: it bore, irrelevantly enough, the Saracen emblems 
on a blue ground. 

At the end of the village street, a short distance from 
the inn door, stood a high wall inclosing a garden, as 
was evident from the treetops visible along its edge. 
Beyond came one gable of a house, and in a corner of the 
garden the conical roof of a dovecot was half hidden 
by apple boughs. 

Passing this last house in the village the highroad, 
10 


CHAPTERTWO 11 

wide and white, ran on and on through lonely, almost 
uncultivated country. Here and there came a farm, or 
a cottage with its little field, but for the most part it 
was grass land — low hills, like waves stilled and grass- 
grown, few trees, nothing to attract the fancy except 
the quick rolling and changing of the cloud shadows, 
and the faint purples and greens of the inconspicuous 
undulations — and the great road running on and on — 
fair, open, and suggestive, as far as the eye could see. 

This village was a spot forlorn, forgotten, far away, 
with no past history beyond the dulled recollections of 
its oldest crone, where all that was modern was its vul- 
garity — the advertisements in the grocer’s windows, the 
bicycles at the inn door, the mean little fountain erected 
in memory of some local event. 

However, even in those days a stranger was still an 
object of interest. 

As a rose-red evening was fading into dusk, the group 
of children that paddled about the cast-iron fountain, 
and the eight or ten women who stood gossiping by their 
' doors, all turned their heads one way as two men on 
horseback rode up to the inn door. 

“ Can you tell me,” said the older man, speaking to 
the innkeeper, who came out, smelling of beer, and stood 
by his bridle, 64 whether a Captain and Mrs. Crawford 
live here now? ” 

He glanced about him as he spoke, noting the small 
change that twenty years had made in the scene before 
him; they had altered him a great deal. His face was 
brown and deeply lined, like that of a man who has lived 


12 THE ROSE OF JOY 

long in a hot country; •the rosy light flushed incongru- 
ously on his gray head — he had taken off his hat, and 
bent a little over the saddle as he spoke. His companion 
bore a kind of likeness to him ; he too had a smooth face 
with a high nose, but in spite of his riding dress there 
was something in his appearance that gave the impres- 
sion of a monk masquerading in ordinary clothes. He 
sat back in his saddle, listening with an expression of j 
fixed gravity to the conversation. 

“Mrs. Crawford, sir?” said the innkeeper. “A 
widow now — in the big house on the left — ye passed it, 
coming down.” 

“ Ah, thank you ! ” Hamilton looked at his watch ; 
there was still daylight left. They wanted supper, he 
said, and beds for the night. 

He turned to his companion. “ I’ll go and pay my 
visit to Mrs. Crawford now, Archie ; you can wait here ; 
it won’t be long, I dare say.” He dismounted, gave his 
horse to the innkeeper, and walked off in the direction 
that had been indicated. 

The house was not “ big ” in any sense of the word, 
except as contrasted with the cottages in the village 
street. The garden wall was plastered with lime; bits 
of the plaster had fallen off ; the old gate that had once 
given entrance to the garden had been replaced by a new 
one which bore the words “ Laurel Mount ” in gilt let- 
ters; there were no laurels anywhere to be seen. 

Hamilton stood still for a moment looking at the gate, 
then opened it and went in, up an ill-kept walk that led 
straight to the f ront door. He knocked more than once ; 


CHAPTERTWO 13 

there was no bell. At last the door was opened by an 
untidy maidservant. Two little girls in pinafores hung 
behind the maid, watching him. He smiled at them when 
at first they were going to run away ; after a second stare 
they silently followed him along the dark little lobby. 

He waited again for a moment after the maid had an- 
nounced his name before he entered a shabby sitting- 
room, where a middle-aged woman in a widow’s cap rose 
to receive him. 


CHAPTER III 


W HEN Mrs. Crawford married she possessed 
a fresh complexion, good teeth, and abun- 
dance of hair ; also a pretty power of blushing 
and sitting silent. By thirty-six her complexion had 
lost its bloom, and her hair was thinning fast ; at fifty 
hair, complexion, and teeth were alike gone; her hus- 
band was gone too — so that in place of Maria Simpson 
with her girlish charms there remained merely Mrs. 
Crawford, an elderly woman like a thousand others, 
neither noticeably plain nor in any way pleasing. She 
could no longer blush, but she could still sit silent because 
she had nothing to say. What few accomplishments she 
had laid on in her youth were long since worn away — 
gone as completely as the plating off an old spoon — but 
seven children, all living, formed her solid contribution 
to society. 

“ Blessed,” says Carlyle, “ is the man who has found 
his work — let him ask no other blessedness.” Mrs. 
Crawford had asked no other. She was not a woman 
with any administrative ability. During her husband’s 
lifetime their income had been narrow, and her daily 
existence unbroken by any gayety or excitement, so that 
for many years she had practically spent her life in the 
nursery. 

But children’s clothes, children’s ailments, children’s 
food, and even children’s sayings and doings do not 
14 


CHAPTERTHREE 15 

go far to furnish the intellect, and by the time that her 
nursery was empty she was far behind her own eldest 
child in point of intelligence. 

“ The tragedy of the mirror ” might have made it 
painful to many women to meet an old lover after such 
an interval of years (there is a good side to vanity), but 
it never occurred to Mrs. Crawford to give her appear- 
ance a thought. 

She saw before her a man whom she could scarcely 
have recognized, till his name and something in his greet- 
ing recalled the agreeable fact that he had once admired 
her. She was one of those (now almost extinct) females 
who divide life into solid and distinct phases — youth, 
girlhood, married life, middle age. Now widowhood, it 
seemed, had severed the last ties of connection with her 
past. She felt faintly flattered by Maurice Hamilton’s 
reappearance, and said that she was glad to see him 
again. As he entered the room, for a moment the feel- 
ing at his heart ran strangely high. He came forward 
unable to speak, till she gave him her flaccid hand and 
turned her dim eye upon him, and the flood-gates locked 
again. 

“ I suppose you would hardly know me now — or re- 
member me,” he said. 

“ Oh, I am quite astonished to see you, but I remem- 
ber you quite well,” said she. They sat down, and Mrs. 
Crawford kept silence as of old ; then, as if pleased that 
she had suddenly found the suitable thing to say, she 
remarked, with a gesture that indicated her widow’s 
cap: 


16 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ You have heard of my loss? ” 

“Yes; just before I came here.” 

She again caught at a fortunate stock remark. “ It 
was a sad blow.” 

“ You have children,” he said, catching at another. 

Mrs. Crawford smiled in her torpid way. “ Oh, yes ! ” 
then added after a moment, “ Children are a great 
resource.” 

“ They are,” he said, with a sudden laugh. “ How 
many of them are there? The eldest is a girl, I think? ” 

“ Seven — seven,” said Mrs. Crawford solemnly, add- 
ing “ Yes, Susan is a girl.” 

This remarkable fact afforded them both matter for 
a little reflection. 

“Are you married? I forget really — it’s so long 
since I have heard anything of you,” said Mrs. Craw- 
ford. 

“ No, I have never married.” There was another 
pause. Mrs. Crawford gave a sort of feeble, bridling 
smile that might imply reminiscence, then said in a tepid 
voice : 

“ Oh, you’re quite young still.” 

“ Quite young ! ” he laughed, and checked a sigh. 
“ I’m come back to the old nest,” he went on. “ My 
Uncle Robert died and left Linfield to me — you remem- 
ber; we met there long ago.” 

“ Yes, I remember now ; I wore a pink dress. Dear 
me! How time flies! — at least” (correcting herself) 
“ it soon passes.” 

“ Sometimes,” he assented. 


17 


CHAPTER THREE 

“Are you going back to Linfield to-night? It’s a 
long way. How do you get to the station? ” 

“ I’m staying all night at the inn,” he answered ; “ my 
nephew, Archie Hamilton, is with me.” 

“William’s boy?” 

“ Yes — the eldest.” 

“ Ah, I never saw William after his marriage,” said 
Mrs. Crawford, now vaguely warming to the recollection. 
“ How sad his death was ! ” 

“ Was it? I wonder if it was,” he said half aloud 
to himself. 

“ So sudden,” said Mrs. Crawford; “and just when 
he seemed to be getting on. But, of course, we hope 
he’s gone to something better.” 

“ We hope so,” he said, looking at her not unkindly, 
in spite of the smile chat he found it difficult to conceal. 

“ Lady Agnes is an excellent woman, I hear,” went 
on Mrs. Crawford. 

“ She is a very strong woman,” he said. Mrs. Craw- 
ford made nothing of inflections. 

“ Ah, robust health is a great blessing ! ” she said. 
He smiled again, but did not explain farther. 

“ How is your sister Julia? ” inquired the lady. 

“ Julia is a widow now. She lives with me at Linfield 
— she and her daughter. I need someone to look after 
my house, and Juliet brightens up the place. She is a 
dear girl. Julia was at school with you, I think.” 

“ She was always so clever,” said Mrs. Crawford. 

“Was she? I cannot fancy Julia clever at any 
time.” 


18 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ Well, she was clever compared to me,” said Mrs. 
Crawford, unconsciously stating the truth. 

He looked at her in silence. 

44 And do you like Linfield now? ” asked Mrs. Craw- 
ford. 

44 Yes, very well. I like the quiet — it suits my bookish 
habits; and we are not too far from Edinburgh — my 
sister and my niece like that.” 

44 There was a pond,” said Mrs. Crawford. 

44 There is a pond still,” he said. 

Mrs. Crawford had the air of one who turns out a 
drawer of old rubbish, mildly surprised at what is 
brought to light. 44 I remember standing between you 
and William, and looking at myself in it — that was 
before William married,” she remarked. 

44 Yes, I remember,” he answered. 

44 1 should like to see William’s boy,” went on Mrs. 
Crawford. 

44 Oh, I wish I had brought him. I’ll come up to- 
morrow morning and let you see him, then, before we 
start.” 

44 Is he like William ? ” 

44 Not at all. But he’s a sailor, too — and looks like 
a monk,” he added, with a laugh. 

44 William was not like a monk,” said Mrs. Crawford. 
Colonel Hamilton agreed, and another pause fell. 

At last Hamilton said: 

44 1 should like to see your eldest daughter ; I have an 
interest in her, because I happened to be in this village 
on the night that she was born.” 


CHAPTERTHREE 19 

“ Dear me ! How curious ! That was twenty years 
ago and more — Susan was twenty in August.” 

Mrs. Crawford then rang the bell and told the maid 
to send in the children and Miss Susan. 

The children soon appeared — two thick-looking boys 
of seventeen and fifteen, a smaller boy, and little girls 
mixed. He felt confused by their number. 

“ Susan must have gone out, for Jane says she is not 
in the house,” said Mrs. Crawford. 

Colonel Hamilton smiled upon the children, feeling 
foolish, and asked their names and ages ; but fortunately, 
before he was reduced to farther questioning, realized 
that it was beginning to get dark and that he must go 
away. 

“ I’m sorry Susan was out,” he said ; “ I hoped to see 
her.” 

Mrs. Crawford bid him a torpid good-by, and he went 
out slowly into the gathering dusk. Bats flittered past 
him as he went down the garden walk, and he saw the 
moon rising behind the trees. 

Coming up to the inn door, he remembered how the 
broad light from it had struck across the darkness that 
night so many years ago. He was received by a stout, 
rosy woman (the barmaid turned landlady), who led 
him up to the very same parlor he had been in before. 

She left him, saying the other gentleman had gone 
out, and that she would bring up candles immediately. 
He turned with a smile to see the same stuffed hawk, now 
considerably shabbier, still in the same corner. In its 
fixed bead eye he seemed to read derision of all things 


20 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
here as he sat down in the glacial leather-covered arm- 
chair beside the vacant grate. 

Once that bird hung in the sky, living, with powerful 
wings; now the twenty years that had passed had only 
thickened the dust upon the moldering feathers. 

He remembered the long, warm, wakeful night that 
he had passed there — “ a night of memories and sighs.” 
Then he thought of the woman he had just seen, and 
the gloom of the room and the hour seejned to penetrate 
to the very roots of his heart. 

You who have old loves, beware how you revisit them. 
There are few things in life more dreary. So few people 
go forward, so many stand still, so many more fall behind 
in life’s long race. A sweet ghost is surely better than 
an ugly exhumed reality. 


CHAPTER IV 


A S the light faded the landlady entered with 
candles. Colonel Hamilton roused himself to 
^ speak to her about supper, whimsically try- 
ing to remember the meal he had eaten in the house be- 
fore. At last the thought darted through his mind that 
he had refused to eat at all that night. “ And now, 
though I swear that I’ve spent a much more painful 
hour than I did then, I’m going to sit down to eggs and 
bacon with a tolerable appetite. Well, Archie? ” The 
last words were spoken to his nephew, who came slowly 
into the room. 

“ You must have found Mrs. Crawford charming; you 
stayed for a long time,” he said. 

Colonel Hamilton rubbed his hand across his eyes. 

“ I found her — changed,” he said. “ Made ine realize 
how time changes everyone.” 

The young man stood by the table. The candlelight 
flickered upon his singular face. “ I understood you 
to say — at least you didn’t say , but I understood you 
to mean — that the lady was your first love? ” he said. 

“ She was. She was just the loveliest creature you 
ever saw in those days. I remember dancing with her 
one night in Dublin, and she looked like an angel.” 

“ She refused you, then? ” 

“ Yes, thank Heaven ! ” said Hamilton fervently, and 
21 


22 THE ROSE OF JOY 

the young man smiled — a smile that wonderfully lit up 
his big, solemn features, and softened for the moment 
the bitter expression that spoilt the delicate mouth. 

44 Read, and compose your mind,” he said, handing 
his uncle one of the two books that lay on the table by 
the stuffed hawk. 64 You will find the 4 Complete Far- 
rier’s Guide ’ a corrective to excitement. I had an hour 
of it when you were out.” 

They sat for a little in silence. Then the landlady 
came in again, saying, 44 Here is Miss Susan Crawford, 
sir.” She drew back, and at the same moment there ap- 
peared in the doorway a young girl dressed in a holland 
frock, holding by the hand one of the children that 
Colonel Hamilton had seen before. 

She came into the room slowly; the light of the two 
candles struck full on her face, making her blink for a 
moment ; the little sister dragged at her hand, and looked 
shyly at the two men from under her lowered eye- 
lashes. 

44 Ah ! ” exclaimed Hamilton, 44 you are Susan Craw- 
ford. How pleased I am to see you ! ” He came for- 
ward to shake hands with her. She looked up in his 
face, saying: 

44 I’ve come with a message from mamma, please — to 
know if you and your nephew ” — she looked at the young 
man, who stood grave and silent behind him — 44 will come 
to supper with us to-night? Mamma meant to ask you, 
but she forgot.” 

She delivered this message and then stood quietly by 
the table as if there was nothing more to be said. Her 


CHAPTERFOUR 23 

attitude had the grace of complete composure. The 
white cloth cast up a light against her face ; her whole 
figure was backed by the darkness of the doorway. As 
she stood against that dark background, holding the 
little sister by the hand, Hamilton thought that she 
looked like an old Dutch picture. Her holland dress 
was almost outlandish in its make — more an overall than 
a gown ; her very dark hair, plaited smoothly, lay low 
down on her neck, giving her almost a childish look. She 
had rather thick, irregular features; her red lips were 
tucked slightly in at the corners, giving a quaint, smiling 
expression to the whole face; her eyes were very sincere 
and blue, with a simple, outlooking glance, as of a 
creature unafraid, looking about in a new world. 

“ Of course we will come with you.” Colonel Hamil- 
ton turned to his nephew. “ You had better go and tell 
the woman that we don’t want supper here.” 

“ Oh, I’ll tell her — we know Mrs. Reid very well,” ex- 
claimed the little girl, and, glancing at her sister for 
permission, she ran downstairs before them. The two 
men followed along with Susan, and the child came out 
of the inn kitchen saying proudly, “ I’ve explained it 
all — Mrs. Reid quite understands — it’s only a taste of 
syrup she gave me,” she said, rubbing a ball of handker- 
chief across her lips. “ It’s run down on my pina- 
fore ” It had indeed. 46 Oh, not your good hand- 

kerchief, please!” she panted, for Archie with unrelax- 
ing gravity had bent down and was rubbing the syrup 
off the front of her pink overall. The little girl stood 
still until he had finished, gave two quick glances at him 


24 THE ROSE OF JOY 

through her long eyelashes, and then, placing her soft 

hand in his, walked along by his side. 

44 Emmy is generally afraid of strangers,” said Susan, 
looking at them as they walked ahead. 

44 All children like him,” said Colonel Hamilton, and 
Susan wondered, for she felt afraid of the young 
man. 

They had only gone a few yards from the inn door 
when Susan halted. 

44 Would you like to see a hedgehog? ” she said. 44 I 
should suppose it was some time since you had seen one.” 
She looked at Colonel Hamilton. 

44 I — I haven’t seen a hedgehog for years.” 

44 There is one, then, that we know very well,” she 
said. 44 Oh, Emmy, I’m afraid he’s going to the inn 
hens ! The big gray hen is sitting just now.” 

The hedgehog darted aside into the bushes, so that 
the precious glimpse was very brief, but for a moment 
there certainly had been a dark circular object on the 
road in front of them. The young man asked if they 
had many pets. Susan did not reply, but Emily laughed 
gleefully, then looking up at him, she explained, 44 Susan 
is so fond of all the creatures that we have them only 
for a little — we know them all.” He tried to make 
Susan explain, but she was shy or not interested. 

Colonel Hamilton asked them about their life in win- 
ter, their lessons, and their neighbors. The girls evi- 
dently possessed that penetrating local knowledge which 
early gives a child brought up in the country such a 
grip on one side of life. There is no vagueness about 


CHAPTERFOUR 25 

the minds of healthy country children. The sphere of 
the village is a small one, and they grasp it entire ; they 
know at an early age, with a flat finality of knowledge, 
all that there is to be known about everyone. 

The Crawfords knew every inch of the ground at 
Burrie Bush, every field and hedge and dyke, every plant 
in the cottage gardens, every child in the hamlet, cart on 
the highway, dog and cat even — could tell you the owner 
of the cows they met on the road — recognized each shep- 
herd on the distant pastures by his gait or his call to his 
dogs. 

44 How old are you ? ” asked Emmy, suddenly ad- 
dressing the young man. 

44 I am twenty-seven — that is, twice as old as you are 
and a little over.” 

44 Emily, you shouldn’t ask so many questions,” said 
Susan gently. 

Then said Emmy, looking up in Archie Hamilton’s 
face, 46 Mrs. Reid said you 4 had a nose on you like an 
eagle.’ ” 

Both men burst out laughing. 

44 Emmy ! Emmy ! ” said Susan, horrified. 

44 Well,” said Colonel Hamilton, smiling at the child, 
44 don’t you think he has ? ” 

Emmy considered the question gravely. 44 Perhaps 
— I think he’s like an avenging angel.” 

44 ’Pon my word, you’re about right, my child.” 

44 Did you ever see one ? ” asked the young man gently. 

Emmy, who had looked up fearfully to see if he was 
displeased, sighed with relief. 


26 THE ROSE OF JOY 

<4 In dreams and in pictures,” she said, adding con- 
scientiously, “ Not real live ones.” 

44 Are you a soldier? ” she asked after a pause, turn- 
ing her inquiries to Colonel Hamilton this time. 

44 Yes, I am.” 

44 Then why do you not we*ir a red coat? ” 

44 1 do at times — not always.” 

44 Do you kill men and horses ? ” the child asked, look- 
ing at him with awe and interest. 4 

44 No, I do not. I am what is called a carpet knight 
— a soldier that has never been in a real battle or killed 
anything.” 

44 And you so old ! ” said Emily reproachfully. 

44 It’s your turn now \ ” said the young man, looking 
at his uncle with a smile. 

They had reached the house by this time, and Susan 
conducted them to the drawing room, where they found 
Mrs. Crawford, who had assumed a less dubious cap, 
waiting to receive them, encircled by a few more of the 
children. 

44 This is my nephew, Archie,” said Colonel Hamilton. 

44 WiUiam’s boy ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Crawford. It 
seemed the one idea she was capable of receiving in con- 
nection with him. 

Colonel Hamilton sat down beside her, and took the 
smallest child upon his knee. As she played with his 
watch he leant his cheek against her soft hair and looked 
sadly, in silence, at her mother. 44 Is it possible? Can it 
ever have been ? ” he thought again, unwilling utterly 
to surrender all memory of his earliest romance. But 


CHAPTERFOUR 27 

literal fact calmly confronted him in Mrs. Crawford’s 
solid form and vacant, unlovely face. 

“ William’s boy,” meanwhile, sat back in his chair, 
with his long, thin hands on the elbows of it, wearing an 
air of utter detachment, making no effort to join in the 
halting conversation. He looked at his uncle and at 
Mrs. Crawford with a little, bitter smile of very unami- 
able criticism. 

So Susan found them when she came into the room. 
She was too young to read character except by instinct, 
but she took a sudden, active dislike to the young man. 
His face had, indeed, a curious mixture of expressions. 
The fair hair lay thick on a small head, one lock of it 
hanging down on his brow like a child’s ; the deeply cut, 
singular features wore at the same time a look of bitter- 
ness and of an almost downcast humility — the look of 
one that found the spectacle of the world at times both 
pitiful and absurd, yet found himself as absurd as any. 

“ He is laughing at my mother. Why did he come 
here? ” thought Susan. Then she noticed how Emily 
(who had come in with her hair brushed and clean hands) 
took her place silently behind his chair, as close to him 
as possible. “ He is not unkind, after all. I think I like 
him, too,” she concluded. 

Supper was a long meal; the food, as Dr. Johnson 
said, “ ill chosen, ill cooked, and ill served.” The room 
in which it was eaten had the look of having been so much 
used by a large family that everything in it was now worn 
away to its original structure — the carpet felt flat under 
the feet like oil-cloth; the chairs had white corners; a 


28 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
rug once hair, now skin, lay before the hearth. The 
mantelpiece was surmounted by the Lares and Penates 
of all such households — black, glittering things repre- 
senting something hideous, probably equestrian. At 
the end of the room was a huge bookcase full of shabby 
books — the only thing that indicated any intelligence 
which Hamilton had as yet noted in the house. 

Mrs. Crawford’s conversation was unenlightened by a 
spark of feeling or of interest; the two elder boys were 
too shy to speak, the younger children sucked their 
spoons and stared according to their ages. “ They have 
all been allowed to sit up to see you,” said Mrs. Craw- 
ford. Hamilton tried to smile kindly in recognition of 
the compliment, but he seemed to find nothing to say. 
Only Susan was cheerful and able to talk. She had 
changed her holland frock for a curious garment of 
green merino with a white frill around the neck, and she 
wore a white apron ; even Colonel Hamilton was vaguely 
aware that in some way or other it was not the usual dress 
for her age. 

“ She’s like a young green shoot growing from a 
withered tree,” he thought ; then his heart gave a twinge 
again as he noticed Mrs. Crawford’s peevish, vacant face 
under the rigid lines of her widow’s cap. “ After all,” 
he thought, “ she might have lost all that she has lost, 
and yet one could still have remembered ” — concluding 
with the reflection, as he tried not to observe her wrinkles, 
that it is not Time’s writing, but the character of what 
Time writes, that spoils the faces of most women. 


CHAPTER V 


T HE meal over, they returned once more to the 
little sitting-room where every color was a 
mistake, and each attempt at decoration a 
failure. Conversation became very difficult. At length 
Mrs. Crawford drew Colonel Hamilton’s attention to a 
crayon drawing on the wall — the one good picture in the 
room. 

“ That was my dear husband,” she said. 

With a great deal of interest Hamilton went up to 
examine it. He saw the portrait of a thin-faced young 
man, with a peculiar arch, yet pensive expression in the 
blue eyes. It made him look at Susan to find the same 
in hers. 

“ This was a later portrait,” said the widow solemnly, 
showing him a photograph. There was a marked 
change. The arch expression had almost disappeared; 
in the lines of rather flabby fat all grace of youth was 
lost; indolence and ill health were written on the weary 
face. Hamilton laid it hastily aside, but he looked at 
Mrs. Crawford this time with more indulgence. 

He saw that Susan had taken up some sewing, and 
his nephew was listening to the children, who were show- 
ing him Emily’s canary. The bird, thus awakened to 
light and noise after roosting time, fluttered about, ut- 
tering cries ; hempseed was scattered liberally on the 

29 


30 


TIIE ROSE OF JOY 
floor, and for a few minutes it was impossible to hear 
what Mrs. Crawford was saying. At last, at Archie’s 
suggestion, the cage was redarkened, and the cries 
ceased. Colonel Hamilton glanced at the clock, won- 
dering if they might now go away. But it was too 
early ; he knew that he must put through another ten 
minutes. Then, in low tones, as he sat beside her on the 
sofa, Mrs. Crawford felt impelled to give him a few 
particulars of her husband’s illness and death. 

The illness had been lingering and painful ; the death, 
from what he could make out, rather dreadful. But it 
was difficult to follow the unilluminating details, chiefly 
consisting of, “ It was on the Thursday,” or “ He had 
asked twice to have his bed made on the Friday, but on 
the Saturday morning. ... A little beef tea. . . . 

I said I would send immediately. . . . That was 

about twelve.” 

As she talked on, his eye rested vaguely on a screen 
which was placed just beside her, the working of which 
had once employed hours of Mrs. Crawford’s time. It 
represented the sacrifice of Isaac — the son, the father, 
the pile of stones, the knife, the ram caught in the thicket 
were all there — neatly worked in Berlin wools, with an 
occasional patch of beading to emphasize the high lights. 
The spirit of the scene had somehow evaded the simple 
needle-woman. Very much the same impression was pro- 
duced by Mrs. Crawford’s recital of any sad event. 
Still, between the rifts of her minute detailing, he 
caught glimpses of the truth. “We had no time to 
send for a clergyman — Mr. Munro lives at such a dis- 


CHAPTERFIVE 31 

tance. ... I read him a few portions. . . . My 

mother was with me. ... ‘ You’ve not had a long 

life, William,’ she said to him. I was just preparing a 
cup of soup. . . . God ! fifteen good years of it in 
this hole. What have I done with it? ” She paused, 
with tears in her eyes. These words at least she had re- 
membered. Hamilton felt kinder to her as she spoke. 
She had a few sensations, after all. “ But the end was 
peace,” resumed Mrs. Crawford happily returning to 
the conventional. 44 He just slipped away — we couldn’t 
make out whether he heard us or not — he seemed asleep.” 

“ Mother, Tommy’s got such a toothache,” said little 
Emily, coming in to interrupt the last words. A dis- 
tant sound of howling confirmed her statement. Susan 
put down her sewing and hurried away. 

“ Susan will quiet him, no doubt,” said Mrs. Craw- 
ford, as she turned her conversation to less personal and 
more cheerful themes. 44 It’s time for you to go to bed, 
Emmy,” she said, turning to the little girl. It was a 
suggestion, apparently, not a command. 

Emmy wriggled in her chair, then said suddenly, 
44 We’re not going to bed till ten to-night.” 

Here Susan came into the room again, and Mrs. Craw- 
ford remarked, 46 Oh, Susan, Emmy won't go to bed!” 

44 I’ll tell you why, mother,” said Susan sweetly, with 
a side glance at Colonel Hamilton. She stood before 
her mother in the same simple way that he had seen her 
do before, with her fingers twisted together, and her 
hands hanging down in front of her like a child. 44 It’s 
because Alec says there is a lark that sings to the moon 


32 THE ROSE OF JOY 

at Burrie Knowe just now, and he said if we went out at 
ten o’clock that we would hear it. Emily will be so much 
disappointed if she is not allowed to go too.” 

“ Hear a lark that sings to the moon ! ” repeated Mrs. 
Crawford. “ How very singular ! Should you like to 
hear it? ” 

Susan’s eyes brightened for a moment as if she were 
about to make some quick reply. She said quietly: 

“ Yes, mother, I should like to hear it.” 

“ A lark that sings to the moon ! ” repeated Mrs. 
Crawford. “ Dear me, young people are so foolish ! ” 

Colonel Hamilton rose. “ If you will trust me, Mrs. 
Crawford, I will go with them. I, too, should like to 
hear a lark sing to the moon.” 

“ Please mother — please ! ” said little Emily, pulling 
at her mother’s gown. Mrs. Crawford said it was late, 
it was cold, it was dark, Emmy should have been in bed 
an hour ago, they could hear a lark sing any day. 

“ It is not cold, mother — it’s May, remember ; nor 
dark — there is such a big moon,” Susan answered. 

In the end Mrs. Crawford gave her consent. She 
even went to the front door with her guests. It was a 
warm night, now nearly as clear as day. The moon 
sent all kinds of questing shafts through and through 
the network of branches and the twisted stems of the low 
trees in the orchard, filling the place with romantic sug- 
gestion. Susan came out, still wearing the white mus- 
lin apron. Emmy was wrapped in a shawl. She took 
hold of Archie Hamilton’s hand at once, and skipped 
with delight at seeing her own shadow on the steps. 


33 


CHAPTER FIVE 
“ Oh, it’s lovely, lovely, lovely, and we’ll run races 
with our shadows all the way! Come, mother.” She 
looked up in Colonel Hamilton’s face. “ Don’t you 
think mother might come, too ? ” 

“ To hear a lark sing to the moon ? ” he repeated, 
looking down at Mrs. Crawford standing in the romantic 
light. The years for a moment rolled away, and he saw 
her once more, fresh and blooming and maidenly, as she 
looked when he saw her first. He blinked with the shock 
as his eyes recalled him to the present. “ I think, per- 
haps, she is wiser not to come,” he said, and bid her good- 
night again. 


CHAPTER VI 


E MMY pulled the young man ahead, chattering 
to him like a magpie. Susan followed more 
slowly with Colonel Hamilton. They walked 
between walls for a little bit, coming out presently on 
the open road, that lay fair before them for a long way 
without hedge or wall. 

There was not a cloud in the sky now, and the great 
moon “ looked round her with delight.” A shining mist 
hung on the higher levels of the land ; the road stretched 
out as white as ivory. 

“We must go across to that knoll over there, where 
the thorn tree is,” said Susan. “ Alec heard it there.” 

“ Please come — let us run,” said Emily, looking up 
at the young man, whose face suddenly relaxed from 
its severity as he smiled at her. They set off together, 
racing over the short turf, the child chirruping with 
delight. Colonel Hamilton and Susan walked behind 
them. 

“ I must have passed along this road,” he said, 
“ twenty years ago — one dark night in autumn, when I 
came here — but I could not see anything then.” 

“ Mother told me that you had been here long ago ; 
I don’t remember,” said Susan. 

“ No,” he laughed, “ you wouldn’t remember. I was 
a very unhappy young man in those days.” 

34 


CHAPTERSIX 35 

“ Oh ! 99 said Susan, with timid sympathy. She added 
softly, 46 1 hope you are happy now.” 

64 In some ways. Young people, you know,” he said, 
turning to the girl, looking down at her with his pleasant 
eyes — 44 young people always think, if their own lamp 
is gone out, that the world is dark.” 

Susan looked at him hard, trying to understand. 
There was not a trace of unhappiness anywhere on her 
smooth young face. 

44 Then after a while,” he went on, 44 they begin to 
look about them, and find there are innumerable lights 
— solid satisfactions that are always to be had — which 
have nothing to do with them or their own life.” 

44 Satisfactions? ” said the girl, a little puzzled. 

44 Yes, lots of them; friends and philosophies, and 
beautiful places, and books and pictures — these are the 
indestructible joys forever.” 

44 1 think I understand,” said Susan, hanging her 
head. 

44 You will understand some day, no doubt. If you 
learn to love those things when you are young, when 
you grow older they will receive you, as the Bible says, 
4 into everlasting habitations .’ 99 

They had crossed the turf by this time, and the land 
in front of them now swept gently upwards to a long, 
low ridge. It was bare of any fence or tree. On the 
slope of it were a few sheep; above, the deep sky. At 
the side of the knoll there was an old twisted thorn. 
There Archie Hamilton and the little girl stood waiting 
for them. They all stood in silence for a few minutes, 


36 THE ROSE OF JOY 

hearing nothing. “ There ! ” said Susan, with a sudden 
smile. Sure enough a lark had risen, singing loudly, 
from the side of the low hill. Up and up the song 
mounted in the stillness; the moonshine was as bright 
as day. Susan stood upright with her hands clasped be- 
fore her and her face lifted: her white apron shone in 
the moonlight; she was entirely unconscious of any ob- 
servation ; she seemed to follow every note as if she were 
listening to the familiar voice of a friend. Then the 
la,rk dropped suddenly. “ It’s over,” she said, turning 
with such a bright smile upon her fresh lips that the two 
men smiled in sympathy. “ We must go back at once 
now,” she added, with a sudden return to practicality. 
“ Emmy, it is so long past your bedtime.” 

They turned again onto the road, still like an ivory 
pathway in the fantastic light, and went slowly back to 
the house. 

After they had left Susan and the child at their own 
door, Colonel Hamilton and his nephew walked on to 
the inn together. 

“ What a funny interior that was ! ” said the young 
man. 

“Funny, did you think it, Archie? It didn’t strike 
me that way.” 

“Well, I can imagine that; the children were intelli- 
gent.” 

“ Children ! The girl is twenty, Methuselah ! ” 

“ Is she, indeed ! ” He smiled urbanely on his uncle. 
“ You seem to me very young at times yourself, sir. A 
‘ man of feeling ’ like you is never old.” 


37 


CHAPTER SIX 

“ You’ve a nasty, stinging tongue, young man, that 
will do you no good in life, I can tell you,” said Ham- 
ilton, laying his hand fondly enough on the other’s 
shoulder as they entered the house together. He began 
searching in his pocket for matches, and pulled out a 
letter. “ Oh, by the bye, here’s a note from Dally Stair 
that I got this morning; I haven’t looked at it.” 

He read the letter by the light of the dim lamp in 
the little inn parlor. Archie watched his face. The 
note was written in a curious, legible, yet sprawling hand 
on a long bit of blue paper. 

“ My dear cousin wants a little assistance, I sup- 
pose? ” said Archie. 

“ Not exactly that this time. I might have gone to 
see him at St. Fortunes if I had thought of it, it’s not 
far from here; he’s gone to the brewery there, you know. 

“ There’s a postscript,” said Archie, looking at the 
note. 

“ Oh,” (he turned the sheet) “ it’s poetry, I see. 
Daily’s muse is erratic.” He held it to the light, and 
deciphered : 

“ I would rather he young than old, 

I would rather he warm than cold — 

Tell you a story than hear it told.” 

“ Very true and practical. Is that a hint to you, 
sir? ” 

“ Written it on a half sheet and forgotten,” said Col- 
onel Hamilton. “ I wonder how he will work in an office ; 
he’s not much of a business man.” 


38 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
“ He’s a good fool spoilt by gleams of intelligence,” 
said Archie. And his uncle laughed. 

Colonel Hamilton is not the hero of this story ; middle- 
aged people like him and Mrs. Crawford are generally 
allowed to pursue their way unexamined by the novel- 
ist, though they may be none the less interesting for all 
that. He and his reflections may now be placed in the 
background. He rode away from Burrie Bush along 
with his nephew the next morning, going slowly past 
the house which they had visited the night before. The 
sun shone high and cheerful, the broad road ran before 
them, fair, open, and suggestive as far as the eye could 
see. 


CHAPTER VII 


L the early part of the day they rode through 



the rolling open country that lay eastwards. 


It was late in the afternoon when they passed 


through the wide street of an old-fashioned county town. 
Colonel Hamilton waited by the post office whilst Archie 
went in to send off a telegram. He noted the transient 
charm the evening light gave to the grim walls of the 
castle that frowned above the little town. Descending 
twilight hushed some of the stir and clatter of the mar- 
ket-place ; lowing cattle were driven away ; the chaffering 
farmers turned to go home ; the football players strolled 
up from the field ; an Italian beggar with a barrel organ 
gave a grin to the silent horseman, and a final grind to 
the handle as he trundled his instrument away. Hamil- 
ton looked up at the placid sky, and along the homeward 
road that stretched out beyond the town, reflecting again 
upon that uncheer ful resurrection of his past which he 
had known the night before. 44 You have a tendency to 
overweigh the occasion, like your mother, Archie,” he 
observed, when Archie came out and they rode on to- 
gether. 44 The way that you said 6 A telegram ’ just 
now suggested nothing less than a death warrant.” 

“ You looked solemn enough,” said Archie. 44 Were 
you thinking about the meal that we had last night? ” 

They had left the uneven paved street behind them 


39 


40 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
now, and the horses struck into a sharper trot on the 
broad, close-shaded road that led to Linfield. 

“ I was thinking,” said Colonel Hamilton, “ that our 
desire for anything is mostly a question of time. Ten 
years from childhood you scorn your toys ; twenty years 
afterwards you despise what you wanted then, and so 
on. Some day, if we remember, we’ll look back on almost 
everything in the same way.” 

“ Find nothing worth caring much about, you 
mean ? ” 

“ No; I meant just the opposite of that.” 

“ I don’t quite understand.” 

“ As planets when the moon appears said Colonel 
Hamilton. 

“ Oh,” said Archie, “ I see ; the moon in this case ap- 
peared some time ago, I presume.” 

“ Many years ago.” 

“ Is she still there? ” the young man asked, glancing 
at him curiously. Maurice lifted his hat and bent his 
head for a moment, making no reply. 

They had reached the gate of the road to Linfield, a 
narrow avenue of Scotch firs, where rooks were cawing 
and making a great flurry as they passed. The house was 
a plain stone building with a high, pillared porch. A tall 
young woman stood on the doorstep, and waved her hand 
to them as they came up. 

“ J uliet is a very good person to come home to,” said 
Colonel Hamilton. 

The last crimson light struck full on the row of flat 
windows in front of the house, making each of them 


CHAPTER SEVEN 41 

burn as if with fire inside; it struck, too, on the girl’s 
figure at the door. She had on a pink dress, and her 
round cheeks had a lovely carnation of their own ; 
drenched in the red light, she seemed to shine with color. 

“ A red , red rose” said Archie in an undertone, as 
he answered her greeting. 

“ Dears, you’re so late,” she called, taking her uncle’s 
hand in hers, while Archie followed them into the house. 
“ Have you been to St. Fortunes to see poor Dally at 
the Brewery ? ” She turned back to speak to her cousin 
as she went in at the drawing-room door. 

“ We have not had that pleasure, but Uncle Maurice 
has a letter from him, inclosing some very touching lines 
that he will probably show you afterwards.” 

“ You were always unjust to Dally, Archie,” said the 
girl. 44 He can do quite good things at times.” 

44 At times,” said Archie. 

The household at Linfield was governed by Juliet’s 
mother, Mrs. Clcphane, who had made her home with 
Colonel Hamilton ever since her husband’s death. She 
was a kind, rather shallow-natured person, who doted on 
her only child, and made a very pleasant head to the 
household. She gave Juliet a great deal of her own way, 
and as Colonel Hamilton did the same, the girl had run 
a fair chance of being spoilt as a child. A naturally un- 
selfish disposition, however, will save one from a good 
deal, and Juliet possessed that. She had grown up very 
sweet, in spite of beauty and overindulgence. 

The two men followed her into the drawing room, 
where Mrs. Clephane sat with her sister-in-law, Lady 


42 THE ROSE OF JOY 


Agnes Hamilton. The red light struck in at the flat 
windows, lighting up the long row of pictures on the 
opposite wall. Lady Agnes had been writing at a table 
in the window. She turned to greet her son and Colonel 
Hamilton without a smile. Mrs. Clephane and she were 
women so curiously dissimilar that, seen together, they 
had almost the effect of ill-chosen colors. Mrs. Cle- 
phane’s manner made Lady Agnes seem very cold as she 
stood in the red light and gazed at them with solemn, 
unflinching eyes. 

It was difficult at first sight to judge of her age, the 
extreme gravity, the almost oppressive self-control mani- 
fested in her voice and expression, were somewhat con- 
tradicted by a face that did not show a single line in its 
smooth pallor. Her dress was of plain black cloth; she 
wore no ornaments, and her hair was arranged with ugly 
severity. A stern, perhaps a hard woman, you thought, 
till you looked into her eyes, that were soft and dark 
like unsounded wells. 

She held Archie’s hand in her own for a minute as he 
stood beside her. 

44 Did you come home by Hearnstead? ” she asked. 

44 Yes, mother ; the roads there were very bad.” 

44 Did you remember my message P ” 

Archie shook his head, smiling irrepressibly. 44 1 for- 
got all about it, mother. You know you only told me 
just as we were starting yesterday.” 

44 Oh ! ” she said, and dropped his hand. 

44 I’m very sorry.” He turned to Colonel Hamilton. 
44 Can I send Jones with it now, Uncle Maurice? ” 


43 


CHAPTER SEVEN 

“ Please go yourself,” said his mother softly, as 
Archie was about to turn away. 

“ It’s three miles, Aunt Agnes ! ” said Juliet. “ Was 
it anything of such great importance P ” 

“ It was not important,” she said, adding, with a look 
at her son, “ but it is important not to forget messages 
that have been intrusted to one.” 

The young man turned away and left the room with- 
out another word. Juliet tittered softly, and pinched 
her uncle’s arm. 

“ My dear Agnes,” said Hamilton, “ to come under 
your displeasure is enough to make a man wish he had 
never been born.” 

Lady Agnes answered only by a slight smile. She 
had put her writing away, and at once had begun to 
wind some wool that lay beside her. 

“ Did you ever do so, Uncle Maurice? ” Juliet asked, 
regarding her aunt with amusement. 

“ Once, I think ; I never did again.” 

Lady Agnes did not look up or move a muscle of her 
face. 

Archie returned just in time for dinner. He was a 
little late, and came into the dining room after they were 
seated at table. He paused behind his mother’s chair for 
an instant. 

66 1 gave your message myself, mother,” he said. 

“ Thank you,” said she. 

“ Which means fi it’s the least you could do ! ’ ” said 
Juliet, as he took his place opposite to her. 

A family party, when it is harmonious (which it rarely 


44 THE ROSE OF JOY 

is), ought to be delightful. Between the painful friction 
of familiarity on the one hand, and the dullness of con- 
straint on the other, there falls an occasional happy hour, 
and that evening the little family gathered at Linfield 
had found one. Juliet was always beautiful to look at, 
and made any table cheerful, whatever she said. Even 
Lady Agnes looked at her indulgently, as she sat lean- 
ing forwards a little with a line of light falling across 
her white neck, talking in an eager, charming way that 
was irresistible. 

“ Did you go to see your old friend, Uncle Maurice 
— the lady who lives at some place with a queer bushy 
name ? ” 

He laughed. “Yes, Juliet, we went to Burrie Bush, 
and I saw my old friend. Archie came with me after- 
wards, and we saw the whole family. Do you remember 
Maria Simpson, Julia? ” he asked, speaking to Mrs. 
Clephane. 

“ Oh, Maria Simpson ! Of course I do. Yes, of course, 
she lives somewhere thereabouts — at Burrie Bush. I re- 
member the curious name when she married. Did you 
see her yesterday?” said Mrs. Clephane. 

“ Yes, we saw her ; we went to supper with her. Craw- 
ford is dead now — he died about four years ago, I be- 
lieve.” 

“ What is she like now ? ” Mrs. Clephane in- 
quired. 

Hamilton sighed and looked at his nephew. 

“ A widow, with seven (weren’t there seven?) children, 
Aunt Julia,” said Archie. 


CHAPTERSEVEN 45 

“ Poor thing ! And very little to live upon, I suppose. 
What are the children like? ” 

44 Very sweet children; I want you to ask the eldest 
girl here some day,” said Colonel Hamilton. 

Juliet groaned. 

44 Very well, Maurice,” said Mrs. Clephane. 44 Juliet 
can amuse her.” 

44 I’m not sure about that,” said Archie. 

44 Why, what sort of person is she?” Juliet asked, 
leaning forward, with her arms on the table, pushing the 
candles aside so that she could see her cousin’s face. 

44 Something 4 quite simple, but very natural,’ as Cole- 
ridge says — something you won’t understand.” 

44 Am I not natural ? ” 

44 In quite a different way.” 

Colonel Hamilton said, 44 Oh, my dear, you will get on 
very well. She will love you, as everyone does.” He 
was very fond of the girl. 

44 I had a letter from Darnley Stair,” he went on; and 
Juliet looked down at her plate and smiled, and then 
looked quickly up at Archie and grinned broadly. 

44 It seems,” said Archie, turning to his mother, 44 that 
our young friend Dally has lately been apprenticed to 
a brewer.” 

44 And why not? ” said she, slightly raising her eye- 
brows. 

Colonel Hamilton struck in from the foot of the 
table: 44 Well, Agnes, not having your pitiless views, I 
confess I’m sorry for him. Anyone less suited than 
Dally to be a brewer I can’t imagine.” 


46 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ He will aid the fermentation, I should think,” said 
Archie. 

44 Poor Dally ! he’s got to try it, anyhow,” said Col- 
onel Hamilton ; 44 and I suppose he may be thankful to 
get it. Poor old Stair gets worse and worse, they say — 
he’s quite helpless now; and all those daughters — and 
in debt up to their chins ! ” 

44 It was judicious of Minna to marry,” said Lady 
Agnes. 

44 Yes, it’s a blessing that one of them did anything 
so sensible, as Dally says. We’ve seen them several 
times. Juliet and I have even dined with them twice 
when we were in Edinburgh. She 4 lives by bread alone ’ 
as completely as anyone can.” 

44 The man is awful,” said Juliet. She paused. 44 He 

had a brother ” She stopped again. Oh, Uncle 

Maurice ! if your little girl comes, we’ll ask him here. He 
is quite clever — an Individualist, or something or other. 
He has beautiful eyes. If he were only an inch taller, 
he wouldn’t be so bad.” 

44 You have a really amiable way, Juliet, of trying to 
dispose of your second-hand adorers,” said Archie. 

Juliet flushed, and rose from the table, pouting. 
There were really tears in her eyes as she answered, 44 1 
don’t — I don’t; only it is because I hate to see people 
very unhappy.” 

44 Poor Maria! I always thought her rather foolish,” 
said Mrs. Clephane, recurring to the subject of Mrs. 
Crawford later in the evening. She drew from her 
brother some description of the household. 44 She was 


CHAPTERSEVEN 47 

so pretty when I saw her last. You remember, Maurice? 
William and you were both quite foolish about her.” 

“ I remember — we both were,” he admitted. 

Lady Agnes raised her eyes for a moment at the men- 
tion of her husband’s name. “ Is the daughter pretty? ” 
she asked. 

“No, I do not think she is; but she is very good to 
look at — young and uncommon. The little girl is sweet.” 

“ I should like to see them,” said Lady Agnes. “ I re- 
member the mother quite well. She had a fine com- 
plexion.” 

“ Yes — then,” said Hamilton. 

Juliet rubbed her damask cheek with her hand, and 
looked on the ground, as if she saw some shadow of the 
inevitable approaching years. 

“ You have some time before you still,” said Archie, 
watching her face. She looked up and laughed, and 
forgot it in a moment. 


CHAPTER VIII 


B REAKFAST at Mrs. Crawford’s on a wet morn- 
king was not a pleasant meal. Mrs. Crawford, 
distinctly peevish, in an old shawl and a soiled 
cap, 64 asked a blessing ” — but the request was uttered 
without diligence or cheerfulness. 

These Thy mercies always in after-days suggested to 
Susan the look of their undesirable foods. 

The older children had to be attended to first, as the 
boys went early to school. There was a good deal of 
hurry: Mrs. Crawford trying to cut bread with the blunt 
side of the knife; the children bickering amongst them- 
selves; cracked china; sloppy tea; a tablecloth like a 
leopard skin ; rain pattering on the dim windows. Susan 
saw the boys start off, arranged the little ones at table 
as they came in, and ladled out the porridge. Her 
everyday sweetness was unaffected by a wet morning. 

After breakfast the work of her day began. It fol- 
lowed only the ordinary course of too many women’s 
lives. 

It had never occurred to Mrs. Crawford that any 
plan of life, any arrangement of the hours, beyond “ do- 
ing all that had to be done ” in the day was necessary. 
To say that she had never considered the different 
capacities of her children would be absurd; it is doubt- 
ful if she even realized that any such differences existed. 
48 


CHAPTER EIGHT 49 

As long as they were at the nursery stage she had taken 
a certain amount of interest in the charge of their small 
ailments and so on. But as they grew larger, she ceased, 
like the female rabbit, to trouble herself much about 
them. The boys went to the nearest school; the girls 
picked up what learning they could from a half-edu- 
cated governess. 

The blame can scarcely be said to have rested with 
Mrs. Crawford. She had not the intelligence to do much 
better if she had tried, and she did not try. The lives 
which she had been the means of embodying in this dark 
world proceeded to strike out along their different direc- 
tions, at least untouched by any influence of hers. 

Susan being the eldest, most of what Mrs. Crawford 
called 44 the household duties ” fell to her share. But 
whether these duties were such as she could best perform, 
or she alone could perform, or indeed whether they were 
duties at all, it had never occurred to Mrs. Crawford to 
question. 44 Duty ” was a word whose meaning she 
thought she understood — perhaps she could scarcely have 
grasped the idea that it 44 preserved the stars from 
wrong,” but she held inflexibly in her mind that it was 
Susan’s duty to mend all the stockings. Mrs. Crawford 
had several of these main ideas which formed her theory 
of life; one of them was that she herself was a religious 
woman. Questioning to such a person on such a subject 
would have been cruel, and would only have confused 
her; but I think she had a simple theory that a great 
many other people were in the wrong, a few were very 
wicked, and a sad number were 44 unbelievers.” What 


50 THE ROSE OF JOY 

she herself did believe she could hardly have said, but 
there was a good deal of it, and she was very conscious 
of believing it. She believed that she had been attached 
to her husband. Love was a word she was shy of using, 
as it might be foolish. She believed that she loved her 
children ; she would have told you unhesitatingly that she 
believed a woman’s first duty was at home. Susan had 
been taught this early, and as Mrs. Crawford was in- 
capable of system, she found each day loaded with a 
mass of trifles which fully occupied her time, and yet 
gave her no chance of mental advancement. So after 
the children had gone to school, she first made out the 
washing list, then sat down with a great basket of clothes 
to mend. She used to toil away at the children’s ill-made 
clothes of cheap material, trying to do it as well as she 
could, but the things were not worth mending, and labor 
on them was thrown away. She sewed till half-past 
twelve o’clock, then she had to go out with a message for 
her mother; then came dinner. Immediately after din- 
ner she had to take the little girls out for an hour. When 
she came in she had to put a cupboard in order, and then 
hear Tommy his lessons for the next day. So the day 
went on until seven or eight o’clock (hours were not kept 
with any exactness in the Crawford household), when 
Susan helped to put the younger children to bed. Then 
she had some time to read. 

On the evening after Colonel Hamilton and his nephew 
had left, she sat beside her mother with a book open on 
her knee. Once she looked up. In the unflattering 
glare of an unshaded lamp Mrs. Crawford sat reading 


CHAPTER EIGHT 51 

The Sunday at Home. It was not a Sunday, but she 
read the stories in the magazine during the week, as the 
other contents were “ more for Sunday.” The house 
was quiet, the children were in bed, and the older boys 
preparing their lessons in the schoolroom. From the 
kitchen came the distant sound of the little maidservant 
cleaning the knives. Taken as a whole, it was a scene 
exemplifying how dull and how ugly domestic life might 
be. Susan was vaguely aware of it, but she had never 
known anything else. Her inner and outer life were 
disconnected. With unquestioning patience she con- 
tinued to perform all the unvarying duties of the day, 
whilst all the time her heart was busy with its own occu- 
pation — one which no one she lived with could share. 

“ See if it has stopped raining, Susan,” said Mrs. 
Crawford at last. Susan went to the window to look 
out. She opened it, and the spring rain was blown in 
by the wind soft against her cheek. There came a scent 
of sweetbriar from the budding hedge; it called to her 
like a low voice from the delicate darkness of the garden. 
She had long been possessed by the idea that it might 
be possible to find out something intelligible from the 
sights and sounds of nature. 

“ I had almost caught it just now,” she said half aloud. 

“ What? ” said Mrs. Crawford, astonished. 

“ Oh, nothing, mother ! I was speaking to myself,” 
said Susan, as she shut the window. 

“ A bad habit. Ring the bell for prayers, please. I 
think the servants must be ready now,” said Mrs. Craw- 
ford plaintively. 


52 THE ROSE OF JOY 

The cook and the little maid came in, the latter hur- 
riedly drying her red hands on her apron at the back of 
the door. 

Mrs. Crawford conducted the unintelligent service. 
When it was over Susan said good-night to her mother 
and went to her own room — a large room on the ground 
floor of the house which she shared with Emily. The 
windows looked into the orchard. The blind of the win- 
dow by Emmy’s bed was pulled up, and the faint light 
of the struggling moon, that was half obscured still by 
clouds, showed the little girl asleep, with her thin arm 
thrown out on the coverlet and her black hair half hiding 
her face. Susan bent above her for a moment, to be 
sure that she was sleeping, then drew down the blind, 
and, having lighted a single candle, she sat down at a 
table screened from Emily’s sight by the high end of 
the wooden bed. There was no fire, and on a damp night 
the room was rather cold. Susan had thrown a jacket 
about her shoulders, tying it round the neck by the 
sleeves. Her eyes gleamed like a person who anticipates 
some great pleasure. The day was over; her own in- 
terest had begun. She took out from the table drawer 
a thick, shabby drawing-book that was filled almost from 
cover to cover with drawings — some in water-color, some 
only pencil sketches. Here and there along the edges 
of the larger pictures, in odd corners, on the back of 
other drawings, were sometimes very intensely colored 
scraps, packed together anyhow ; there were buds, leaves, 
the heads of marsh rushes, a blue beetle, a snail-shell 
with its black whorl design, butterflies, a twig with the 


CHAPTER EIGHT 63 

purple of coming spring, sometimes a landscape so small 
that you could have covered it with a penny, a great ini- 
tial letter, a train of miniature figures running up a 
narrow margin — it was as if the richness of her observa- 
tion had overflowed its borders, and must decorate every- 
thing. The larger pictures showed more attempt at 
design — remarkable, to anyone who could judge of the 
work, from the total absence of hesitation. Out of draw- 
ing and almost grotesque as many of the figures were, 
they moved, they stood firm on their feet, they held out 
hands to one another with just that ingenuous power, 
that humble feeling after truth, recognizable everywhere 
as being lit by “ that divine spark which no industry can 
ever kindle, which no neglect can ever quite destroy.” 

Susan never showed her work to anyone. Mrs. Craw- 
ford (who, as a girl, had executed landscapes in chalk), 
had she ever noticed them, would have instantly dismissed 
them as childish absurdities. Susan had never spoken 
to a single creature who cared about art in any form. 
Her ideas on pictures were mostly taken from the things 
upon their own walls. She merely set herself to draw 
because she wanted to fix with greater intensity the im- 
pression that the outer world made upon her when it 
was translated by her imagination. She would never 
have thought of speaking about it any more than she 
would have thought of telling Mrs. Crawford how, to 
her, the white road was peopled with strange figures, the 
winds spoke, the scarlet of the evening skies had a mean- 
ing. She had read a great deal, but nothing modern, 
and the classics do not foster self-consciousness. No 


54 THE ROSE OF JOY 

idea that she was in any way different from other people 
had ever occurred to her. There was nothing of the 
self-pity or the self-absorption of young genius about 
her. She had a very simple heart. 

She sat drawing steadily until the candle burnt low, 
and Emily awoke with a start. “ Sue ! Sue ! What are 
you doing? ” she called out. “ Why are you sitting up 
so late? ” 

Susan looked up like a person only half awake. She 
threw off the jacket and came to Emmy, who sat crouched 
up in bed, clasping her knees with her hands, her black 
hair hanging on her shoulders. 

“ What is it, my darling? Lie down again. You 
are all right. What did you dream ? ” 

“ Horrid ! 99 said Emily. She lay down, and caught 
at Susan’s hand as she sat at the bedside. 

“ Tell Susan, darling,” said Susan, bending down, her 
face brightened with a soft smile that seemed to reassure 
the child. 

“ I thought Janet was here,” began Emmy, “ sitting 
on the nursery chair darning stockings, and a squirrel 
came in at the window, a beautiful red squirrel, Sue. I 
was in bed, and he ran on the coverlet and let me play 
with him; he had such a fine tail, and I felt his clammy 
feet on my hand. Then he ran away, and, Susan ” — 
she turned in bed with a contortion of fright — “ I saw 
a black man, I think he was Satan ” (she lowered her 
voice and glanced fearfully about the room). “ He was 
sitting on a bench at the foot of your bed; he took up 
the squirrel and held it for a moment, and then it ran 


CHAPTER EIGHT 66 

back to me; but, oh! ” — her voice broke with the reason- 
less horror of a dream — “ its back was all covered with 
cinders. And Satan got up, and I think that he was 
coming over here to me, and I screamed to Janet, but 
somehow she didn’t hear me, or had gone away, and then 
I saw there was a kind of light at the foot of the bed — 
there. And someone was sitting with His back turned 
to me — it was Jesus, Sue; and when I screamed He did 
not say anything at all, but just turned round a little 
and stretched out His hand. I did not see His face, 
but His hand was so kind, and I took it; and the other 
person went away, and I think the squirrel got out of 
the window. Then I wakened, and it was you.” 

Susan sat still, holding her hand and looking down 
at the child. At the moment, with that expression on 
it, her homely face was almost beautiful. 

“ Now, Emmy,” she said, 66 you must be my good 
child and go to sleep. Think about the squirrel, and 
the kind hand that came to you, and do not be afraid.” 

“ Do you think He was really there ? ” 

“ Who, darling? ” 

“ Jesus.” 

“ I think so, Emmy ; what you mean by that, any- 
how.” 

Emily looked puzzled for an instant. 

“ And Satan ? ” she said, with a quick, covert glance 
at the end of the room. 

Susan did not answer, then lifted her bright eyes. 
“ Good and evil are always with us, darling ; let us keep 
near the good.” 


56 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“And the squirrel?” said Emmy, who always ac- 
cepted Susan’s explanations of everything. 

Susan laughed at this — her low, merry laugh. “ Oh, 
yes, yes, dear! I think the squirrel too — Nature, 
Emmy.” 

“ Where has it gone then ? ” 

“ I don’t know, away out of doors somewhere ; per- 
haps he was entertaining the lark we heard on Thursday 
to a moonlit feast.” 

“ Oh, yes, Susan, please yes — a moonlit feast; go on. 
I’m quite wakened up. Mayn’t I just stay awake whilst 
you get off your things. Go on, please. Where 
was it ? ” 

Susan rose to tidy up the litter she had left on the 
table. As she moved about the room and then began 
to undress, she kept telling scraps of detail to the excited 
child, who had already forgotten her terrors. 

“ But the lark was going up so high in the sky, Sue. 
What did she see? Did she get up as far as heaven? ” 

Susan paused, as she drew off her stocking, and looked 
up for a moment with a smile. 

“ Not quite so far as heaven, Emmy. She found that 
the door was shut.” 

“Oh! Was she sorry?” 

“ I think she was.” 

“ But she came down again to a nice grassy nest.” 

“ A nice warm nest in the grass.” Susan brushed her 
hair. 

“ With eggs? ” 

“ Yes, four eggs, Emmy.” 


57 


CHAPTER EIGHT 

“ And another lark ? ” 

“ Yes, another very nice lark.” 

“ And wasn’t she happy ? Did she mind about not 
reaching heaven ? ” 

“Well, she couldn't , you see; she reached it in her 
heart.” 

“Oh!” said Emmy. “Well, about the squirrel? 
Quick, Sue, just before you put out the light. What 
had they to supper ? ” 

“ May-dew, of course ; out of acorn cups.” 

“ Where did they get the acorns P There are no oaks 
here.” 

“ They had empty nut-shells, then,” Susan’s voice 
went on in the darkness, “ from the nut trees we sat by 
last night — old ones.” 

“ Did the lark tell them what she had seen, Sue? ” 

Susan chuckled softly to herself. 

“ No, Emmy. She had to look after the eggs when 
she got home.” 

Emmy asked no more questions, and her gentle breath- 
ing presently told of dreamless sleep. 


CHAPTER IX 


A FEW weeks later in the summer Mrs. Craw- 
ford again was stirred to vague reminis- 
cence; this time by a letter from her old 
school friend, Mrs. Clephane, who wrote to ask that the 
girls might be allowed to come to Linfield, and added 
some kind expressions of pleasure in renewing her old 
acquaintance with Mrs. Crawford. “ Auburn,” said 
Mrs. Crawford, laying down the letter on the breakfast- 
table. (Susan was late that morning, and had only just 
appeared. ) “ Auburn. Some people called it red, but 

I never thought so. Of course, my own hair then was 
what I suppose you would call golden, but Julia Ham- 
ilton’s was different — not red; just like a nice curry. 
Some people admired it very much ; she was a handsome 
girl. I wonder if she wears a cap now.” 

“ Who is it, mother ? I don’t know quite who you’re 
talking about,” Susan asked. Mrs. Crawford held out 
the letter to her. Emily, quite pale with excitement, took 
a great gulp of tea, and said solemnly: 

“ I am asked, Susan ; I think they really do want me. 
I hope that mother will allow you to go too.” 

Susan began to laugh. 

“ Emmy is too young to pay visits,” Mrs. Crawford 
objected. 

“ See, mother ! ” exclaimed Emmy, seizing the letter 
58 


CHAPTERNINE 59 

and pointing to the underlined words with a trembling 
finger : “ ‘ My brother 'particularly hopes that you will 
allow Emily to come too. Juliet and I love children, 
and it will be a pleasure to us to have her.’ It’s really 
me they want,” she said, and a cloud gathered quickly 
in her eyes as she saw dissent on her mother’s face. She 
squeezed Susan’s hand tightly, urging her to plead her 
cause. After all, Mrs. Crawford was not hard to per- 
suade, and Susan gained her consent to both of them 
going to Linfield in the following week. 

Emmy subsided into a state of pale tranquillity dur- 
ing the rest of the meal. She pushed aside her untasted 
porridge, whispering to Susan, “ Tea and toast, please, 
this morning.” And Susan, humoring her childish 
sense of suitability, allowed her to breakfast in silence 
on grown-up foods. 

Is it one of the reasons why most biographies are so 
hollow that the circumstance, the mere outward structure 
of life, does not always bear much witness to its real con- 
tents? You may live through an earthquake with a mind 
unchanged, and a stroll with a friend to the end of your 
own garden will send your soul out on a venture to find 
some new world. A fortnight spent in another person’s 
house seems a trifle — would probably be omitted in a 
serious biography ; yet before Susan had been for a week 
at Linfield the whole complexion of her life had changed. 
There is no change of scene half so distinct as the utter 
difference between one mental atmosphere and another 
can sometimes be. Except for occasional visits to her 
mother’s sister, an aunt who lived at St. Fortunes, not 


60 THE ROSE OF JOY 

far off, Susan had never been away from home before. 
The country that they drove through was not altogether 
new to them. For many miles they followed the familiar 
road, and Emily could point out the landmarks that they 
knew. Then the character of the landscape changed, 
and Susan was well entertained in looking about her until 
the darkness fell, and she could see no more till they came 
to Linfield. A pale flicker of moonlight between the 
clouds was sufficient to show the straight stems of sentinel 
fir trees as the carriage turned in at the avenue gate, and 
Susan saw the house with lighted windows far away at 
the end of the long procession of black trees. 

Emmy by this time was so tired with the excitement 
and fatigue of the day that she had buried her face in 
Susan’s shoulder and fallen sound asleep. She woke 
with a start when the carriage stopped, and was nearly 
ready to cry. Colonel Hamilton lifted the child and 
carried her into the hall, where Juliet met them. Emmy 
looked about her, up at Juliet’s smiling face, round the 
bright, unfamiliar room, then decided not to cry, and 
grasped Susan’s hand, becoming suddenly wide-awake 
and chattering. 

She demurred a good deal at being promptly sent to 
bed, but fell asleep before her head had touched the 
pillow. 

Juliet took Susan to see her mother, who received her 
very kindly. “ She is not in the very least like what 
Maria used to be,” Mrs. Clephane remarked to her 
brother when the girls had left the room. “ Maria was so 
pretty ! ” 


CHAPTER NINE 61 

“ She is not pretty in that kind of way,” he answered ; 
“ but I think she has a face ‘ that serves the ends of 
beauty,’ as someone puts it.” 

This was a little beyond his sister’s comprehension, 
who thought Susan a very plain-looking little person, 
and saw absolutely nothing about her to admire. 

Juliet observed Susan curiously, for this was quite a 
new specimen of womankind to her. In the brilliant 
light her little figure looked small and very shabby. She 
wore a dark round hat and queer calico dress, with an 
uncouth black jacket. Her eyes, bright and shy, glanced 
from side to side ; she was quite absorbed in the pleasure 
of these new surroundings. For the first time in her 
life she found herself in a house that satisfied her sense 
of beauty. “ There’s nothing ugly,” she thought, and 
whenever her eye lighted on anything she felt a little new 
soft shock of delight. Before she had been five minutes 
in the house her consciousness was sensibly enriched. 
There was nothing very unusual in the house or the com- 
pany, but to Susan it was as if, after discord, life had 
suddenly glided into harmony. Her whole personality 
in a day or two began to unfold as a blossom opens in 
a blander air. 

Juliet’s beauty was a new delight. The two girls 
looked very different as they sat together for a few 
minutes after Susan’s first arrival. To an observer, how- 
ever, there was always something about Susan’s expres- 
sion that made other things insignificant. She sat in 
perfect unconsciousness of any oddness in her own ap- 
pearance. Even when she looked down and saw their 


62 THE ROSE OF JOY 

feet together it did not strike her to withdraw her own 
— a small foot, almost round in the heavy, country- 
made shoe. 

This first evening, when Susan had gone to see if 
Emily was asleep, Juliet came into her uncle’s study. 

44 She’s a dear, queer little thing — I like her so much,” 
she said. He turned his gray head and looked at her 
meditatively. 

44 You like her, do you? ” 

44 Yes, indeed I do ; and the child’s a darling.” 

44 Do you think we can make them happy? ” he asked. 

44 1 don’t know about you, 9 * said Juliet; 44 1 think that 
I can.” 

44 But she is not interested in the same things as you 
are.” 

44 1 don’t quite know what you mean, but I think it 
was something unkind,” she said sweetly, with the as- 
surance of a favorite. 44 However, I think I can.” 

44 1 thought, when I looked at you together,” said her 
uncle, 44 that it was sometimes a positive misfortune for 
a woman to be pretty.” 

44 Do you think me so very unfortunate?” asked 
Juliet, lifting her face and showing her prettiest dimple. 

44 Time will show. You’re a dear creature at times. 
Go away now, I’m busy.” 

That night Juliet came and knocked at Susan’s door. 
44 Oh, you’re in bed already ! I came to see if you had 
everything that you wanted,” she said, coming in smil- 
ing, with a kind of gracious friendliness that Susan had 
never seen before. 


CHAPTERNINE 63 

She sat down beside the bed, and leant her head on her 
arm, and looked at her guest. Susan gazed at her too 
admiringly to speak, noting her color, her long, fair 
arm in its transparent sleeve, the unapproachable grace 
of her attitude. 

Juliet, on her part, scarcely glanced about her; yet 
before she had been in the room for a minute she had be- 
come aware of the poorness and shabbiness of all Susan’s 
belongings — the soda-scorched brush on the toilet table; 
the sixpenny blotting-book ; the clumsy shoes. 44 She’s 
a regular little anchorite,” she thought, noticing the 
coarse cotton nightgown that Susan wore. But then she 
looked again at the speaking eagerness of the eyes, at 
the fresh lips and the quaint, unmodern face, and forgot, 
or was reconciled to, the ugly garment. 

She began to ask Susan about her life at home. This 
was the first time that the girl had ever had the oppor- 
tunity of looking at her own life from the outside at all. 
That view, seen for the first time, to an intelligent mind 
is surprising. 

“ Do you look after all the children without a 
nurse? ” said Juliet; 44 it must give you a great deal to 
do.” 

44 It does,” said Susan.. She thought for a moment 
and then added, 46 These are the occupations of my 
hands.” 

44 Oh, I see,” said Juliet doubtfully. But she did not 
see at all. 44 Are you fond of children ? ” 

44 What a question ! ” said Susan, with a sort of bright 
indignation. 44 Of course I am ! Who is not ? ” 


64 THE ROSE OF JOY 

Juliet was silent. She asked Susan if she had found 
the long drive very tiresome. 

“ How could I? ” said Susan, “ when so much was 
beautiful.” 

“ Well, I don’t think this a very beautiful country.” 

“ Oh,” said Susan reproachfully, “ and the lines of the 
land roll like the waves of the sea; and we passed such 
black bits of woods, and farms, and fields of green 
wheat ! ” 

“Are you very fond of beautiful things?” Juliet 
asked. 

Susan at first didn’t reply, then she glanced up half- 
archly, half-shyly. “ Do you like to be so beautiful? ” 
she said. 

Juliet, though only too well accustomed to admira- 
tion, was so much surprised that she blushed brightly. 

“ I suppose I do. Oh, yes, 1 do,” she said, and 
laughed, showing all her white teeth. 

“ It must be wonderful,” Susan went on, still looking 
at her with bright, penetrating eyes. “ Do you know 
what I thought when I saw you come downstairs to 
meet us to-night? I said, like the man in ‘Don 
Quixote ’ : ‘ / think I see her now — looking as if she had 
the sun on one side of her and the moon on the other . * ” 

“ Oh, oh! You will make me vain; but I believe I’m 
that already,” said Juliet. “ I must not keep you 
awake.” She stood up, looking down at Susan with an 
instant’s hesitation. They looked into each other’s eyes, 
and then she drew the shabby little figure suddenly to 
her bosom and kissed her, so making one of those quick 


65 


CHAPTER NINE 
friendships that are sometimes as true as any. On 
J uliet’s part it was the half surprise of the younger girl’s 
frankly expressed, innocent admiration; for a woman 
who is beautiful is always well aware that the generous 
acknowledgment of it by another woman is more than 
the praise of many men. Susan, on her side, always went 
straight, as it were, to meet anything that called to her 
heart — by beauty, or pity, or in any other way. She 
found nothing extraordinary in it, and went to sleep with 
the memory of Juliet’s soft face against her own, and of 
how her gauzy draperies had brushed her cheek. This 
friendship was a new and beautiful possession indeed. 


CHAPTER X 


A RCHIE HAMILTON had gone to rejoin his 
/ \ ship, but for a week after the Crawfords came 
JL. JL Lady Agnes was still at Linfield. Both Susan 
and little Emily attached themselves to her at once. Mrs. 
Clephane’s easy motherly smiles had no effect on Emmy 
compared with the other lady’s deep, direct glance, and 
her low voice. From the first time that she saw Lady 
Agnes, Susan had surrendered to the recognition of a 
new personality. She was as different from other people 
as an aromatic plant from the common leaves of the 
wood. Susan found a shelter in her very presence. She 
wanted to sit near to her — to stay as close beside her as 
she could. Juliet watched them with great amusement. 

“ How do you like my Aunt Agnes P ” she said one 
day. “ Most people are so much afraid of her.” 

“ Afraid ! ” said Susan simply. “ It would never oc- 
cur to me to feel afraid of — anyone like her.” 

“ But I think she’s decidedly frightsome. When I 
was younger I used to blush whenever she looked at me. 
All the same, I love her, and I think her tiny white house 
is the nicest place in the world.” Juliet sighed sud- 
denly. 

“ What is her home like? ” Susan asked. 

“ Just the funniest little tiny house you ever saw, 
66 


CHAPTERTEN 67 

hanging like a swallow’s nest above the water, with the 
little bedrooms pitch-dark, and so small you can’t turn 
round, and the smell of the sea coming in at the win- 
dows ” Susan made a quick mental picture and won- 

dered if she would ever be there, and why it was that 
Juliet liked it so much. “ She is so poor,” Juliet went 
on ; “ but even if she were not, she’d be always denying 
herself everything for someone else.” 

“ I wish, please, to be just like that when I grow up,” 
said Emily, who had been listening to their conversation. 
Emmy was supremely happy at Linfield. She enjoyed 
every moment of every day, from the time she got up 
until she was sent unwillingly to bed. 

Juliet had at first regarded Susan’s garments with the 
tender dismay that a kind-hearted young woman always 
feels in seeing another ill dressed; but she soon found 
out, having made a few timid advances upon the subject 
to Susan, that she was not at all sensitive about it. She 
absolutely did not care one bit about her appearance. 
“ If I were like you,” she would say, “ I might feel dif- 
ferently.” 

“ But you would look so nice if you ■” Juliet 

paused, afraid of hurting her. Susan laughed a merry 
little laugh. 

“ If my clothes were not so ugly ; but somehow I can’t 
see that they are. That is not an ugly color, now,” she 
pursued. She smoothed her gown as she spoke, and 
looked up at Juliet innocently. “ It’s just like a young 
green leaf.” 

“Yes, green merino,” said Juliet; “but — but — don’t 


68 THE ROSE OF JOY 

you see, Susan, that people just aren’t wearing green 

merino.” 

“ Why not? Don’t you think it pretty? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose it is; just as good as any other ma- 
terial in its own place.” 

“ What is its own place ? ” 

“ Its own time, I should have said, or even,” she 
added, “ if it were a little differently made.” 

u You mean if it were made like your dress? ” 

“ Oh, well, like other people’s dresses — a little,” sug- 
gested Juliet, crimson as she spoke. Susan eyed her 

gayly. 

“ I don’t mind your thinking it ugly. I would put 
on anything to please you, but I do not understand about 
these things ; they don’t exist for me,” she answered. 
They went together to buy one or two new things, but 
Juliet found it very hopeless. 

“ She will like one thing because it’s like a leaf, and 
another because it’s like a beetle’s wing, or some such 
idea,” she said to her uncle, after one of these days of 
effort. “ Always something away from the matter in 
hand.” 

“ And what is the matter in hand ? ” 

“ Why, to get her decently dressed, like other people, 
of course.” 

“ She’s so sweet as she is, I think.” 

u Yes, so she is ; but she’d be much sweeter if she were 
just a little different.” 

“ I wonder if she would.” 

" Well,” Juliet went on, “ she wanted to have a col- 


CHAPTER TEN 69 

lar to her dress of some dreadful plush stuff, because she 
said that it was like the silk fur of a mole. When it 
came to talking about moles in clothes I thought it was 
time to give it up.” 

“ My child, I think I’ve seen you wearing a ferret 
about your neck not so long ago.” 

“ Not quite that. But if it were,” Juliet went on 
boldly, “ I should wear it all the same. I’d wear a mole 
or a rat or anything else, only when other people were 
doing it too.” 

“ Ah ! I see. But I think I have heard you say that 
you must stop wearing something or other because every- 
one else was doing so too? ” 

“Yes, you’re quite right,” sighed Juliet. “It’s a 
mystery. Fashion’s like the moon; it’s no sooner full 
than it begins to wane. But Susan will never trouble 
herself about that ; perhaps she is wise. Why, the child 
is far quicker than she is; it ties its hair-ribbon now 
quite nicely, and it asked for a red one instead of a blue 
one with a red frock.” 

One day they went to Edinburgh to see a little loan 
collection of pictures. Juliet, who cared no more for 
pictures than she did for astronomy, merely went because 
other people did. She had scarcely got into the room be- 
fore she found that she had lost Susan, not bodily, but 
the girl paid no heed at all to anything that she said. 
Crouched near the floor, to look at the low-hung pictures, 
rooted in front of others, she was blind and deaf and 
dumb to everything else. The severe early Italian art 
that Juliet, had she had the courage to own it, would 


70 THE ROSE OF JOY 

have described as hideous, was what attracted Susan 
most. Her face glittered with the intensity of her new 
joy. 44 See, see, Juliet, how the angels smile at one an- 
other ! It’s just like life, is it not ! ” 

44 Well, Vve never seen them, if you have; and I hope 
they haven’t necks like that.” 

“ Oh ! ” Susan looked again, trying to see with 
Juliet’s eyes. 

44 Well, what do you see in it? ” Juliet asked. 

44 The intention,” said Susan seriously. 44 Is it not 
that, after all, that makes everything good or bad? ” 
Juliet was puzzled. She was accustomed often to 
play with terms of which she very imperfectly grasped 
the meaning. She had always depended on her uncle for 
definitions of anything she did not comprehend, and very 
slightly considered any abstract question on her own ac- 
count. Again she looked at Susan bewildered, again she 
envied her. Never in all her prosperous days had she 
known an hour of such pure delight as Susan was en- 
joying then; not even when she had realized the inde- 
scribable inward thrill of possession which is the secret 
joy of beauty. As she entered a room, conscious it was 
shining from her face, seeing it, as in a mirror, in the 
eyes of others — not even this had ever been to her like 
the joy Susan felt at that moment. 

Colonel Hamilton joined them after a while. He came 
up to Juliet, who was sitting near the door. She silently 
directed his attention to Susan. He saw — even a man 
could not help noticing — how shabby she looked, the 
way that her black jacket bulged on the shoulders, the 


71 


CHAPTER TEN 
badly hung skirt, and the clumsy shoes. Juliet crossed 
the room to stand beside her, and as she turned to speak 
he saw Susan’s face uplifted, fresh, lighted with pleasure 
as if by some inward lamp, and it astonished him. 

He went quickly up to’ them. 46 You understand, I 
see,” he said; and Susan, a little shyly, answered: 

44 These are 4 the indestructible joys forever ’ that 
you spoke of when we saw you at home.” 

Juliet turned away to speak to someone she knew. 
She had an uncomfortable feeling that here was a matter 
which she knew nothing about at all. 


CHAPTER XI 


T WO or three weeks passed, and Mrs. Crawford 
wrote declaring that the girls must come home.. 
Emily was very tearful. She did not want to 
leave. Lady Agnes Hamilton’s youngest son, a boy 
about her own age, had come, and she considered him a 
perfect hero. After a fit of preliminary shyness and two 
or three quarrels they were now on the best of terms, and 
the little girl would have followed him about like a dog. 
One evening, two or three days before they had to leave 
Linfield, Juliet and Susan, who had been out together, 
found Emmy in tears, with scratched knees, at the bot- 
tom of a dry ditch. Jack Hamilton sat astride of the 
six-foot wall urging her to come up. 

“ I’ve tried three times, and I’m hurt so ! ” Emmy was 
saying. Her hero jeered. Juliet said that the child 
must come home with them. To Emmy the dignity of 
walking with grown-up people was great, so casting out 
three snail-shells and a handful of green gooseberries 
from her apron (judged by Susan as scarcely worth 
bringing home), she dusted her poor knees and was com- 
forted. 

It had been a sultry day — gray, without sunshine, but 
very warm. As they came slowly up the avenue a 
melancholy sunset burned low in the west, and the rooks 
cawed on the tree-tops. There was an ominous sadness 
72 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 73 

in the air that weighed upon Susan, who was curiously 
susceptible to those impressions. She had the feeling 
common to animals before thunder, that something she 
dreaded was about to happen. She thought perhaps it 
was because she was sorry to be going home so soon. 
Emily, too, was sobered, and walked between them in 
silence, only by a tug at her sleeve directing Susan’s 
notice to the unfledged rooks, naked and purple, that 
had dropped dead upon the pathway from the high trees 
above. 

The somber sky began to glimmer red between the 
trunks of the pine trees as the sun sank lower in the west. 

“ It’s like the sky above Flodden Field, Sue,” said the 
child suddenly, her face very solemn. 

“ Oh, you queer thing ! What do you know about 
it? ” called Juliet, and set off racing Emmy to the house. 
Her influence over the child was entirely wholesome. She 
would scatter her nervous terrors with a burst of laugh- 
ter, and mock gayly at her strange notions. 

They ran, laughing, to the door, and Susan followed 
them slowly, thinking to herself that the melancholy that 
hung upon her must have been caused by the uncon- 
scious feeling which Emmy had expressed when she saw 
in the angry red of the sullen skies memory of an old 
disaster. She shook herself, and tried to reason herself 
out of the causeless depression. 

Colonel Hamilton was standing at the door as they 
came up. He gave Susan a rose that he had in his hand 
— an old-fashioned, cold, white rose with dull green 
leaves. Many a year afterwards, 46 when he was dead 


74 THE ROSE OF JOY 

and she was very old,” Susan, seeing such a rose again, 
remembered that evening when the current of her life, 
unknown to herself, began to change its course. 

She went into the house, holding the flower in her hand, 
44 like a living pearl,” she thought. 

44 Susan,” called Juliet, 44 Darnley Stair is coming to 
dinner to-night, and Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, so you are 
going to let Parker dress you for once.” 

Susan submitted cheerfully. She was too much occu- 
pied with a new book that Colonel Hamilton had given 
her to care in the least who was coming or what she looked 
like. She sat reading intently all the time that Parker 
was dressing her hair, never once looking in the glass. 

Emmy, silent with excitement, watched the proceed- 
ings and supplied the hairpins. 

Juliet came in when the hairdressing was finished. 
44 Well,” she said, 44 you do look nice. I suppose you’ve 
never looked to see? What are you reading? ” She 
glanced indifferently at the book. 

44 1 was reading such a beautiful thing in this,” said 
Susan, lifting her blue eyes, 44 about the Rose of Joy.” 

44 Oh, yes! Very fine, no doubt; but I want to make 
you look at your own hair,” said Juliet, laughing, and, 
pulling the book away from her, she looked at Susan with 
open satisfaction. 

Few people are aware of the full power of clothes, be- 
cause it is very seldom that those who know how to dress 
well ever forget to do so : and, more rarely still, that those 
who do not are ever seen at their best. When Susan’s 
toilette was complete it was like a transformation. Juliet 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 75 

had contrived to strike just the right note of color. 
Susan was charming in her own way, with the charm of 
expression, and coloring the most elusive of all. 

“Look at yourself now!” said Juliet. “Look, 
Susan ! ” 

Susan looked. “ Yes, I believe I am better that way,” 
was all that she said, and would have walked off without 
another glance. 

Again Juliet envied her. “ Why can’t I be like 
that ? ” she thought. 

“Do you like your hair that way? Look at your- 
self,” she said, giving Susan a little shake. 

“ I’d much rather look at you,” said Susan, laugh- 
ing, and turning away from the glass. 

“ Well, do you think this dress is nice? It will make 
poor Dally very miserable, no doubt,” said Juliet 
thoughtfully, stuffing an end of lace down the front of 
her bodice. 

“ Who is he ? ” Susan asked. 

“ Oh, Dally? A second cousin or something — Darnley 
Stair — very likely you know something about him, they 
live not far from your home.” 

“ Yes, I think I’ve heard my aunt speak about them,” 
said Susan. “ Stairs of Striven aren’t they? ” 

“ Yes, that’s them ; well, you’ll see him to-night. 
What’s that you’ve got, child?” said Juliet to Emily, 
who was looking into a drawing-book that lay open on 
the table. Juliet lifted it and turned a page. She was 
supremely indifferent to such things herself, but had 
acquired a certain superficial knowledge from living al- 


76 THE ROSE OF JOY 

ways with people who knew better. 44 Susan,” she ex- 
claimed, 44 who ever did this? ” 

44 It’s Susan’s book that she draws for us,” said 
Emmy. 

Susan grew pale. She moved quickly forwards, and 
covered the page with her hand. 

44 It’s — it’s — a book of mine that I draw little things 
in for the children,” she said. She looked pleadingly at 
Juliet. 44 You wouldn’t understand,” she added. 

44 Very well. I’ll take it down to Uncle Maurice and 
see if he understands.” 

44 1 think he will,” said Susan simply. 

44 Come along, we’ll go down then.” Juliet tucked 
the book under her arm, gave Emmy the kiss she had 
been waiting for, and drew Susan away. 

44 Let Parker put you to bed now, darling,” called 
Susan, looking back again when she had left the room. 

44 You’re just like a little mother, Susan, in spite of 
your mystic art,” said Juliet. 

Colonel Hamilton was alone in the drawing room 
when they came in. 44 See, Uncle Maurice, I want you to 
look at this,” said Juliet, putting the little book into his 
hands. 44 Susan says I wouldn’t understand.” 

He opened the book, and looked into it gravely. Susan 
stood on the rug before him with her fingers twisted to- 
gether, and her arms hanging down. Her face had 
cleared. 

44 Tell me about this, my dear. Is it your work? ” he 
asked. 

44 Yes,” Susan answered, now quite readily. 44 They 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 77 

are little pictures that I paint for the children — mostly 
out of the Bible. You will understand, if you look. 
That? Oh, that’s just a little spring in one of the fields 
at home — it comes through the grass like that ; and 
that’s only one of Ezekiel’s beasts,” she said, speaking 
with utter simplicity. 

“ As if it were the cat ! ” whispered J uliet, who was 
looking over her uncle’s shoulder. 

“ Go on — what’s that? ” asked Colonel Hamilton. 

Susan went on. “ You remember about the sea of 
glass mingled with fire ? ” 

“ Mr. Darnley Stair,” was announced at this moment, 
and Juliet, brimming with laughter, went forward to 
meet him. Two or three other people came in almost im- 
mediately. Susan hurriedly closed her little book and 
laid it on a side table. 

After dinner for the first time she found herself sit- 
ting alone, and her attention was drawn to Mr. Stair. 

He was an ugly young man, with some distinction of 
manner. He stood leaning on the back of a chair, his 
white hands hanging over the top of it. His eyes were 
fixed upon Juliet Clephane; when she moved, he moved 
so as to have a better view of her; when she smiled, he 
drew in his breath with admiration. He seemed to gloat 
on her white shoulders. All this Susan observed from the 
corner where she sat. In spite of his carrot-red hair and 
his plain face, there was a kind of grace about the 
creature every now and then ; there was both humor and 
feeling in his quick eyes. 

“ Do go away,” said Juliet at length, turning her 


78 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
head slightly in his direction. “ I can’t endure to have 
you standing there. Show Mr. Stair your pictures, 
Susan,” she said, turning to Susan with a smile. “ He 
will 4 understand,’ I think. Miss Crawford will show you 
something that you will like,” she said to the young 
man, speaking exactly as one speaks to a child. 

Susan tried to protest, for Mr. Stair looked so ex- 
ceedingly blank that there was no misreading his dis- 
like to the proposal. However, Juliet insisted, and, pain- 
fully conscious of his disinclination to look at it, Susan, 
because she did not know what else to do, opened one 
page of the book and held it out to him. He took it 
from her, thanked her, and turning a little away from his 
cousin, began rapidly to turn one leaf after another. 

Suddenly he stopped, arrested; then turned back a 
page, then facing right round with his back to the other 
people, almost sprang forward, like a dog that catches 
the scent and strains suddenly at the leash. 

44 Come, Miss — Miss Crawford ” (Jhe made a dash at 
the name). “What’s all this about? What is this — 
yes, yes, I see. Oh, Lord, it’s good — good ! ” He sat 
down on the sofa by Susan, gulping with eagerness, his 
eyes glowing, his lips working, now turning back a leaf, 
now looking ahead, pulling at his red hair, running his 
hand back and forwards over his smooth chin, as he 
caught at the meaning of the picture, and endeavored to 
get Susan to explain her thought. 

“Where’s that? I should know that — that square 
thing. ‘ A strong tower; the righteous runneth into it 
and is safe' I see exactly. I think I know it quite.” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 79 

“ That’s the old tower of St. Fortunes,” said Susan, 
“ not far from my home.” 

“ What ? Of course it is ! How stupid of me ! I see 
it every day, but you have made it alive. I shall always 
see it like that now. How do you know St. Fortunes? 
Do you live there? ” 

“ I live at Burrie Bush ; it is about fifteen miles away. 
I have sometimes been at St. Fortunes.” 

“ I live there — there,” said Mr. Stair plaintively. 
“ It’s my beastly unfortunate fate to be a brewer. Do 
you happen to know people called Murchison? ” He 
did not wait for her reply. “ Do you know Mr. Mur- 
chison too? Isn’t he dreadful?” 

“ He’s my uncle,” said Susan. Her lips twitched and 
her eyes lighted up archly for an instant, as they some- 
times could. 

Mr. Stair looked confounded, but only for a moment. 
“ It’s, alas ! too true,” he said, with a kind of taking 
simplicity. “ And the worst of it is, I feel I’ll just be- 
come the same after I’ve been a brewer for forty years.” 

“ Why do you think brewing so dangerous ? ” Susan 
asked shyly. 

“Oh, because it makes people fat — feeds the body to 
kill the soul. See what it does to horses.” 

“ I know,” said Susan. “ They are splendid. I’ve 
seen them with the heavy carts in these narrow streets; 
their necks are so thick and curved, they hold their heads 
so proudly; they clutch the ground with their great 
hoofs — it’s like the book of Job.” 

Whilst they sat absorbed in this conversation the other 


80 THE ROSE OF JOY 

guests had gone. Juliet came round and stood beside 

Susan. 

Mr. Stair started up. “ It seems as if I were going 
to stay here all night. Thank you, Miss Crawford, 
thank you. I shan’t forget.” He turned to his cousin. 
“ Oh, sir ! I’ve had a good dinner, but my imagination 
has been fed, which is more.” 

He turned a rapturous gaze upon Juliet, who was 
stretching up her arm to put out a lamp, said good-night 
again, and went off, talking hurriedly to Colonel Ham- 
ilton as he crossed the hall. 

Early the next day Susan and Emily left to return 
to Burrie Bush. Emily wept, and Susan could almost 
have wept along with her. Home had seemed so dim 
and far off amidst her vivid new impressions. When 
Juliet had waved a last good-by to them and turned 
away, she felt almost as if they were going into an 
unknown country. 

It was late when they reached home. The boys ran 
out to the garden gate to meet them, telling all at once 
all that had happened to them and their rabbits since 
Susan and Emmy had left. 

“ And, Sue, you are different somehow ; it’s your hair.” 

“No, it’s just her face; she looks different,” they 
said. 

She came slowly into the little ill-kept hall, where her 
mother was waiting for them. 

There was something peculiarly joyless in Mrs. Craw- 
ford’s greeting; it implied, if it did not say in so many 
words, “ Yes, there you are; you’ve been away enjoying 


81 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 
yourself, whilst I was left alone.” Enjojnnent was a 
feeling that she was incapable of herself, and she resented 
any signs of it in other people. 

“ Well, Susan, I’m glad you’ve come home at last. 
Yes, we’ve all had had colds, and it has rained the whole 
time you’ve been away.” 

Emily was peevish with fatigue. “ I think every- 
thing seems so small and ugly at home, Sue, and I’m so 
tired, and I’m going to be sick, and I wish w r e hadn’t left 
Linfield,” she said, and would not eat her supper. The 
evening seemed very long to Susan, the boys very noisy, 
and she felt as if she had become suddenly possessed of 
a hundred eyes, that informed her of every scratch on the 
chairs, every stain on the paint, and every ugly thing 
in the room. 


CHAPTER XII 


M RS. CRAWFORD’S only sister was the 
wife of a brewer at St. Fortunes Haven. 
Occasionally, on a fine day, a small closed 
carriage, drawn by a stout, purposeful horse, would stop 
at Mrs. Crawford’s door. Then Mrs. Murchison, cast- 
ing a severe glance at the slipshod maidservant, would 
walk heavily into the room. 

“ Well, Maria, I’ve come on business,” she said, when 
she appeared one day soon after Susan had come home; 
“ I wish you to let Susan spend the winter with me.” 

“ Oh, but how could I do without her? ” said Mrs. 
Crawford. “ Emily can do nothing to help me.” 

“ The sooner she learns the better. Dear me, Maria, 
you’re not in your dotage. Surely you can get on with- 
out ‘ help ’ for six months ? I don’t see what you want 
it for.” 

“ There is so much to do,” said her sister. 

“ H’m ! ” Mrs. Murchison glanced about the untidy 
room. “ What would you do if Susan married?” 

“ Susan married! I never thought of such a thing! ” 
“ Why not? Our good mother was married, and had 
two babies by the time she was Susan’s age.” 

“ Dear me ! So she had — but they were boys,” said 
Mrs. Crawford. 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Murchison, planting one broad foot 
82 


CHAPTER TWELVE 83 

emphatically on the carpet to accentuate her words, 44 I 
think you’ll be very foolish if you don’t let her come. 
We want a young person in the house. What with 
people in to dinner, people coming and going, and all 
that, and young Mr. Stair always on hand, I cannot 
very well manage alone. My husband is fond of Susan. 
I’ll take good care of her, she’ll be well fed and decently 
dressed while she’s with me, and though I don’t say there 
are many chances in our neighborhood for a girl to make 
a good marriage, there are more than she’s likely to have 
here, anyway. Unless she marries a milestone I don’t 
see any hope of it.” 

“ I’m sure Susan never thinks about marriage,” Mrs. 
Crawford began. 

“ Tuts ! ” said her sister, 44 that’s all very well. I dare 
say she does not, but a girl’s a girl, Maria, and youth is 
youth, and everyone in this world should have a chance.” 

44 When I married ” said Mrs. Crawford feebly. 

Mrs. Murchison again tapped the floor with her foot, 
then she rose and stood looking down at her sister. She 
was a tall, heavily built woman, with a strong grip on 
life. You could see that in every movement she made, 
in everything that she wore; her handsome clothes were 
well made and well worn, her gloves were new and fitted 
her big hand, her rich bonnet sat at the right angle on 
her smooth hair. From her broad, flat face to her broad, 
flat feet she was the embodiment of common sense. Her 
strong, somewhat coarse philosophy of life she worked 
out steadfastly, unconfounded by any subtleties of feel- 
ing. She had not 44 made a good marriage,” but she was 


84 THE ROSE OF JOY 

the plain one of two sisters, and she had never expected 
to do so. She made the best she could, and made the best 
of that. Down, far at the bottom of her heart, there was 
a feeling which had never seen the light. Long ago, 
when she and Maria had been girls together, and Maria’s 
pretty face had won the young Irishman’s easy affec- 
tions, the older and plainer sister had wished that their 
lots could be changed. Now, when Susan raised her arch 
blue-gray eyes and looked at her aunt, Mrs. Murchison 
thought, “ She is like her father ” ; but for all she ever 
said, Mr. Murchison himself might have always been her 
ideal of manly beauty. Susan, naturally ignorant of 
this train of thought, was always a little surprised that 
her aunt should have any patience with her at all. When 
Mrs. Crawford told her the proposal she thought at first 
that she could not do it ; then, perhaps, some of the rest- 
lessness of youth that fancies any change will be better 
than none, or perhaps the sudden realization that home 
was intolerable, made her agree. She wrote to her aunt 
and promised to come in a week’s time. 

On the following Monday she arrived at St. Fortunes, 
somewhat weary from her long drive. As they came near 
the town the roads grew narrow, with high walls on each 
side. Susan had often been there before, but she never 
failed to lean forwards and catch a glimpse of the old 
square tower that raised its blind face above the orchard 
trees amongst which it stood. A stiff breeze was blow- 
ing from the sea — the bright line of water gleamed blue 
all along the low coast; the pale red roofs of the old 
houses that huddled along the shore made a mass of 


CHAPTER TWELVE 85 

warmer color in front. The old horse, knowing his stable 
was near, mended his pace, and the carriage came skid- 
ding round the acute corners of the high-walled lanes, 
down the hill, and drew up with a bang at the door of the 
long whitewashed house. Susan went in, and ran up- 
stairs. There was a huge fire burning in the huge draw- 
ing-room, that was papered with a white paper spotted 
at intervals of half a yard or so with oblong blue spots, 
about the size of a child’s head — it always made Susan 
dizzy to look at them. She came in, appearing very 
small at the far end of the long room. Her aunt was 
standing talking to Mr. Stair; Susan recognized him in 
an instant. It made her entrance more comfortable, for 
he came forward with a quick look of pleasure. 

“ Are you very cold? Are you very tired? Have this 
chair.” 

Susan sat down and stretched her chilled hands to the 
blaze. Mrs. Murchison clapped her kindly on the 
shoulder. 

“ You shall have tea at once, Susan. Sit still and 
warm yourself. I’ll see that your boxes are taken up- 
stairs.” 

She went out of the room, and Mr. Stair, who ap- 
peared very much at home, sat down again by the table 
and began to eat largely, talking all the time. 

“ Have you seen the Hamiltons again? My Cousin 
Maurice has been ill — poor Judy nursing him. I^don’t 
think a person as pretty as she is ought to do such a 
thing, do you? Spoils her bloom. Sick nursing is for 
quite another sort of woman — all the hard bit of it at 


86 THE ROSE OF JTOY 

least. If I were just dying” he proceeded — “ have some 
buttered toast — very good — if I were dying, I’d like 
her to sit by my pillow and give me spoonfuls of jelly 
— or, no, wet my lips with wine. Her eyes are so tender 
when she’s sorry. You’re not eating anything. Won’t 
you have some of the plum cake? Mrs. Murchison’s is 
final.” 

He came and stood in front of the fire and lifted his 
face, and looked about the room. 

“ Fine old room this,” he said. 

“ Yes,” said Susan, smiling, “ only I sometimes wish 
that those spots ” 

“ I’ve counted them,” began the young man eagerly, 
“ counted ’em aU. There are four hundred and seventy- 
eight, exactly, on that long bit of w r all, each as big as a 
child’s head, shaped like a powder-flask, and colored 
bright blue. A firm mind designed that paper. We 
couldn’t do it now. Rather like it, though.” 

Here Mrs. Murchison came in and took Susan away 
to her room. When she came into the drawing room 
again just before dinner, Mr. Murchison was standing 
talking loudly to Dally Stair. Susan came up to her 
uncle and placed a timid little kiss upon his vast cheek, 
and received an affectionate squeeze from one of his thick 
hands. Mr. Stair, standing with his own white hands 
behind his back, watched the greeting with amusement. 

“ Kissing isn’t quite in your uncle’s line — he’s not at 
his best at that sort of thing,” he said, so loudly that 
Susan feared her uncle would hear. They were stand- 
ing for a moment in the hall, while Mrs. Murchison and 


CHAPTER TWELVE 87 

a very fat man, who was dining with them, blocked the 
way. Susan looked up at Mr. Stair’s ugly face, with 
the bright gray eyes and the lock of red hair on his brow, 
and gravely considered that it would not be much in his 
line, either. However, she caught one of his quick 
glances and changed her opinion. 

There in the dark dining room down they sat at six 
o’clock to one of Mrs. Murchison’s rich dinners. Susan 
and Mr. Stair were placed together on one side of the 
table. The fat man at the other side kept up a loud 
continuous conversation with his host. Susan *ontent- 
edly noted the firelight twinkling on the brass grate, the 
golden pears, the graceful motions of Mr. Stair’s hands, 
the very color of the wine in her uncle’s, glass. She had 
a power of sitting silent unobserved, because her face 
was so expressive that it seemed to speak for her. Mrs. 
Murchison looked at her, very well pleased with her ap- 
pearance, for Juliet Clephane’s efforts had not been 
entirely wasted, and the girl now possessed an occasional 
bit of clothing that was really becoming. That evening 
she wore something which suited her fresh young face 
very well. She also felt comfortable in Darnley Stair’s 
society. He was unlike other people and did not make 
her feel herself hopelessly queer. After dinner, when she 
had to sit and try to make conversation which her aunt 
might approve, she had a harder task. Mr. Stair had 
gone — he lived in lodgings quite near at hand. 

“ He wastes a great deal of time in talking nonsense,” 
said Mrs. Murchison. “ Don’t pay any attention to 
what he says, my dear ; he is a feather-headed thing.” 


88 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ I think he is kind and clever,” said Susan. 

“ Kind ! Pooh ! maybe ; but certainly not clever. 
There is more hope of a fool than of him.” 

“ But everyone’s talents are not for business, aunt.” 

“ Well, to my mind,” said Mrs. Murchison, “ a man 
that has talents makes them useful to him in his busi- 
ness — brewing, or baking, or anything else. But I’ll not 
deny,” she went on, more indulgently, “ that he’s had a 
bad chance; and there’s something pleasing about him, 
after all.” 

Mrs. Murchison cast no glamour over realities. She 
knew to a hair’s-breadth the value of money, men, and 
things, and her estimate of Dally Stair was not a high 
one; still, such as it was, she gave him his due. Her 
husband, on the contrary, was extremely fond of the 
young man, and made allowances for his rather unsatis- 
factory habits — sudden fits of work, and then spells of 
idleness, or rather of intense interest in some matter in 
no way connected with beer. Mr. Stair made himself 
wonderfully agreeable in the society of the little old 
town — at times. He was capable of flinging himself 
into the spirit of the hour until the most provincial party 
took on some of his infectious gayety. There was a 
tendency to the massive and solemn in the entertainments 
of St. Fortunes at that date. Each family in the small 
society had been long in the neighborhood, and each knew 
the other with an intimacy only possible to those whose 
interests were all bounded by the same small orbit. 

“ When I first came here,” said Dally to Susan, “ I 
declare that they 6 counted my very bones,’ as the Psalm- 


CHAPTER TWELVE 89 

ist says. I used to pull the blankets over my head at 
night, and try to give myself some small feeling of being 
unobserved. It was awful. But you get to like it when 
3 r ou’ve become one of them. Then you can do it to the 
newcomers, you see; and it gives you such a sense of 
superiority. 4 You’re not citizens of the world here,’ 
said a horrible man that old Mrs. Graham brought to 
one of your aunt’s card parties once. 4 We are citizens 
of our own world,’ said Mrs. Murchison — and I admired 
her.” 

Mr. Stair had quickly grasped the fact that Susan 
always understood what he said, and he said many curi- 
ous things to her in consequence. A community of feel- 
ing was established between them, and though the girl 
was not very fond of showing her work to anyone, she 
would, when he asked about her drawings, bring down the 
things she had been doing and let him see them. His 
quick admiration of all that was best in the work was 
unfailing, so that unconsciously she began to depend 
upon it. Mrs. Murchison left her very little time for her 
own pursuits. Life at St. Fortunes was totally different 
from her home life, but there were many things to oc- 
cupy her. She wrote letters for her aunt, did some 
errands, went out every afternoon, read aloud in the 
evenings, and so on — a cheerful and healthy enough ex- 
istence at her age. She saw a number of people, none of 
whom had the very slightest interest in anything that 
she cared deeply about, but life at home had accustomed 
Susan never to expect that. She was surrounded with 
comfort, almost with luxury, and Mrs. Murchison gave 


90 THE ROSE OF JOY 

her everything that she could think of as likely to make 
her happy. All the same, the one little thread of sym- 
pathy that there was between her and Darnley Stair on 
the point of the art that she loved made an intimacy 
between them quite apart from all the rest. The house 
seemed brighter when he was there. His ugliness was 
of such a different quality from that of her uncle and 
his friends; his follies and his enthusiasms were so unlike 
their faults or prejudices. His loves and sorrows he 
poured so freely into Susan’s ear that in a few months’ 
time they understood each other perfectly. Rather it 
was that Susan understood him, for all the deeper side 
of her nature was unknown to Dally. 

At first she had missed the children very much, but 
her aunt often allowed her to have Emily for a few days 
at St. Fortunes, or drove Susan to Burrie Bush for the 
afternoon. Those were painful days : the peculiar diffi- 
culty of entering home for an hour made her rather 
dread them. Mrs. Crawford had always a string of 
complaints. Everything about the house seemed to 
want putting in order. The children clustered about 
her and tried to make her promise to stay ; and then she 
had just to get into the carriage again and return to the 
greater comfort in her aunt’s house. One frosty even- 
ing she came back to St. Fortunes after one of these 
brief visits to her home. She got out of the carriage at 
the station and walked down through the zigzag lanes, 
enjoying the clear wintry air, and noticing, with her 
usual keen delight, all the many things she was learning 
to love about the little town — the long line of sea ; the 


CHAPTER TWELVE 91 

red-roofed houses ; the church tower ; the dear orchards, 
with branches matted together and queer, twisted stems ; 
the high-walled roads ; the silence ; the echo of her own 
footsteps on the hard ground ; the smoke that hung above 
the distant city like a red cloud. She went along slowly, 
feeling how glad she was to return there. Her after- 
noon at Burrie Bush had been particularly distress- 
ful. Mrs. Crawford had collected a perfect heap of 
grievances to relate to her; the children had all been 
ailing, and even Emmy was cross ; the house looked more 
than usually forlorn, the food was specially nasty. She 
could not help feeling glad to get away from all that 
purposeless muddle and return to quiet and comfort at 
St. Fortunes, and — and she had done a new little bit of 
work she could show to Mr. Stair when he came in before 
dinner, and they were generally alone for a little while. 
Thinking thus, she turned a sharp corner and met him 
coming towards her. He gave her his hand in an absent 
way, looking all the time at the sky to the west. 

“It’s adorable, isn’t it?” he said. “An 4 awful 
rose.’ Look at it over there. Do you see anything 
in it? ” 

46 Yes, a great deal — a great deal,” Susan answered. 
He dropped his quick pace to suit hers, and they walked 
along together. 

44 1 think that you have eyes like Blake,” said Dally 
at length. 44 Do you remember how, when he was asked 
if he saw the sun 4 a yellow disk, something like a guinea,’ 
answered, 4 Oh, no, no ! I see an innumerable company 
of angels ’ ? ” 


92 THE ROSE OF JOY 

Susan smiled. 44 It was not an innumerable company 
of angels at all that I saw just now,” she said. 

44 What? Whop Do tell me,” said Dally, but Susan 
was silent; they walked on without speaking for a little. 
She was quite at ease with him now, and they were silent 
or spoke when they chose. 44 I’ve spent such an after- 
noon,” began Dally at last, 44 shut up in that office with 
one of the usual fat men, and all the while I could see 
just the little slit of sky between the roofs opposite, get- 
ting more and more like a rose.’ He sighed at the re- 
membrance of his toils, and Susan laughed. 

A carriage had been coming slowly up the hill towards 
them as he spoke; as it came nearer Susan saw that it 
contained Lady Agnes Hamilton. They both stopped 
to speak to her, Mr. Stair somewhat reluctant, Susan’s 
face sparkling with pleasure. 

44 1 have been to see your aunt,” said Lady Agnes to 
the girl ; 44 I was very sorry not to see you too. You look 
very bright and well. Do you like living here? ” 

44 Yes,” said Susan, 44 in some ways I do.” She looked 
up at Lady Agnes. 44 Oh, I wish that I had seen you ! ” 
she exclaimed, suddenly realizing there was something 
which she wanted very much to tell her. The older 
woman’s mournful, impenetrable eyes seemed to meet 
hers, full of an unspoken sympathy. 

44 1 hope to see you again. You will perhaps come 
some day along with Juliet, and stay with me,” said 
Lady Agnes. She then turned to Mr. Stair. 44 1 partic- 
ularly wanted to speak to you, Darnley.” 

44 Oh ! ” said Dally, looking blank. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 93 

Susan, observing his expression, bid Lady Agnes 
good-by, and walked on by herself, leaving them alone. 
Lady Agnes sat upright, resting one hand on the edge 
of the carriage ; Dally stood beside her. 

46 1 hope that Miss Crawford is happy with those 
people,” she said. 

Dally shot an upward glance at her, and answered 
demurely, 44 She seems to be quite happy.” 

44 At present,” said his cousin. She went on, 44 1 am 
sorry to hear that your father is so ill.” 

Darnley’s face clouded. 44 Yes, he’s been very ill 
of late; things seem going from bad to worse at 
home.” 

Lady Agnes looked at him as if she could read him 
through and through. 

44 You like your work here, I suppose?” she said. 

“ Do you suppose that I do? ” said Darnley auda- 
ciously. 44 I just don’t. I think it quite as hateful as 
work can ever be. It’s not the work, you see,” he went 
on, sinking into his confidential tone, and leaning both 
arms on the door of the carriage, while Lady Agnes sat 
back and looked at him. 44 It’s the kind of it — the food- 
someness of it — the constant smell of malt and things ; 
and all that labor going just to make fat men fatter and 
poor men more drunken.” 

44 There is that point of view.” 

44 Should you like to be a barmaid? ” said Dally. He 
did not look up in her face as he spoke, but down at the 
rug. 

44 No,” said Lady Agnes quietly. 44 But if you are 


94 THE ROSE OF JOY 

looking at it from the moral standpoint, I understand 

you.” 

44 What is the other? ” said he. 

44 That your father is old, and ill, and poor; that you 
have five sisters and a mother, who will all one day be 
more or less dependent upon you,” the low, steady voice 
went on. 

44 Oh, Heaven forbid ! ” said Dally, running his fingers 
through his red hair. 

44 It is better to look things in the face*,” said Ladj 
Agnes. 44 But I came to speak to you about your sisters. 
I have not time just now, it is too late. Maurice told me 
to ask if you will come over to Linfield on Saturday till 
Monday; then we can discuss the matter.” 

Dally gave unwilling consent. Lady Agnes drove on, 
and he hurried after Susan. 44 I always feel as if I were 
transparent when that woman looks at me,” he began ; 
44 like a clear gear-case, you know — everything working 
inside you visible.” 

44 Don’t you like her? ” said Susan. Dally considered. 

44 My liking is tempered with awe. She makes me 
despise myself, and no one quite likes that. When she 
married my cousin she was in the undeveloped stage, 
I suppose, or else there’s no accounting for it.” 

44 Was she not happy?” Susan asked. She had a 
vague notion that there were such things as unhappy 
marriages in the world, but had had no personal observa- 
tion of them. 

44 Happy ! ” Dally gave a short laugh. 44 She was 
about as happy as you would be if you were roasted at 


CHAPTER TWELVE 95 

a slow fire. Why, she wasn’t five-and-twenty when my 

Uncle Maurice ” He stopped short, and walked on 

in silence, then broke out again, “ Merciful Heavens ! 
Why was such a bungle as marriage ever allowed? ’Pon 
my word, it’s the worst thing in a bad world — except 
love — that’s worse. . . . Take my word for it, Miss 

Crawford — I’ve been through it all — I know.” His face 
had turned almost green, and his lips twitched ; he looked 
inexpressibly ugly, but Susan was touched by his emo- 
tion, yet inclined to laugh at the same time. 

“ Mr. Hamilton is just your age, isn’t he? ” she said, 
wishing a safe subject. 

“ He’s two years younger — in spite of that nose. I 
hate him,” Dally went on, quickly going off on the new 
subject. 

“ Why? ” 

“ Don’t know — always did, and always will ; he acts 
like sandpaper upon me. I stir up all the devil in him 
— there is a good deal, of rather a bad kind.” 

“ Oh, no! ” said Susan indignantly, for though she re- 
membered that her first impression had been one of dis- 
like, she had too true an instinct for the meaning of a 
face to agree with Daily’s remark. They came up to 
her uncle’s door, and Susan stopped to bid Mr. Stair 
good-night. The church clock struck six — six slow, 
clear strokes, and Dally held her hand all the time, but 
Susan looked at him as unconscious as a child. 


CHAPTER XIII 


D ALLY remained at Linfield for three days, 
and Susan found those days singularly dull, 
Sunday in especial very prolonged. It was 
Daily’s custom to come in late on Sunday afternoon. 
Mrs. Murchison found the shades of the dining room 
more congenial on that day and generally sat there all 
the afternoon with a book on her knee; Mr. Murchison 
slumbered in his study. Susan was left by herself in 
the big drawing room, and when Mr. Stair came in he 
generally found her alone. He would then stand on the 
hearthrug and talk on, stumbling very often upon rather 
odd subjects, while Susan sat drawing by the window; 
or would come and sit very close to her, watching her 
work in an absorbed silence. Sometimes he went to 
church, and his ideas seemed more than usually freakish 
afterwards. That Sunday Susan had been twice to 
church alone, as her aunt was not very well. During the 
second service she looked up to find to her surprise that 
Mr. Stair had suddenly appeared and was sitting op- 
posite to her. She had not expected to see him till Mon- 
day (this life is but a moment after all, but when we are 
young time is differently divided; three days exhaust 
one’s patience then), and this was only Sunday evening. 
She smiled across at him, such a sweet greeting that 
Dally, who was what the Scotch call “ quick at the up- 
96 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 97 

tak,” looked down after meeting her glance, and gazed 
at the book board till the end of the sermon without once 
raising his eyes, lest the commoner faces about him 
might confuse the singleness of his pleasure. 

He was very silent that evening, and did not come in 
so often as usual during the week. Susan supposed that 
he was working hard. But when he did come, there was 
a look of pain on his face that distressed her. Even Mrs. 
Murchison was sorry for him: “His poor old father’s 
illness is worrying him,” she said. Susan somehow did 
not feel this to be the explanation of it. 

Winter came darkening slowly over the land ; a long, 
severe winter it was. Susan had a room with two win- 
dows that looked out on the garden. She used to stand 
often looking at the bare trees, and the empty, frost- 
bound fields that stretched away behind, noticing a thou- 
sand delicate shades of color imperceptible at other 
seasons. When her aunt did not claim her time in some 
other way, she would walk by herself along the bare sea 
road that lay eastward from the town, when sometimes 
the raw, eager blue of the sea, and the laboring boats 
upon it, and even the chill salt wind would charm her. 
She looked so fresh and healthy “ as to pass very well for 
pretty,” thought Mr. Stair, meeting her one afternoon 
on the road, as she was coming home. Her slightly 
ruffled hair took off the somewhat prim look that she gen- 
erally had; her cheeks wore a fine color, and her little 
figure took a graceful enough poise as she bent against 
the wind. Cold was unbecoming to himself; he verged 
on yellow in a northeast wind. 


98 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

44 A tolerable climate this, if we’d only just acknowl- 
edge it was Arctic,” he said, with a shiver, as he came up 

to her. 

44 I’m quite warm with walking,” said Susan, 44 and 
the sea is so curiously blue.” 

44 Yes, bitterly blue — I say ” — he turned to walk be- 
side her, as he generally did when they met — 44 does this 
sort of thing satisfy you, Miss Crawford? Are you not 
cold? Are you not — to put it plainly — dreadfully dull? 
— for I am. I’m sick of my work, and St. Fortunes, and 
the weather, and the people, and the whole of life just 
now in fact. You seem as if you made a meal off the 
color of the sea — as if the gulls amused you. Oh, hang 
it all, was there ever a man so unfortunate as I am? ” 

44 Now,” said Susan, laughing, 44 it’s just because you 
have too little to do, because it’s Saturday afternoon, 
that you talk like this.” 

46 It isn’t — it isn’t ! ” said Dally ; 44 it’s my broken 
heart ! ” 

Susan thought that the pieces were not very small 
when she saw how much he enjoyed dinner that evening. 
His mood of misery had passed, and he laughed till he 
cried just because Mr. Murchison did not understand 
his jokes. He was going to London for a fortnight be- 
fore Christmas, and Susan was going home at the end of 
December. Mrs. Crawford said that she could not get 
on without her any longer. 

Susan hardly acknowledged to herself the blankness 
that she felt in the prospect. She tried to think of the 
pleasure it would give her to be with Emmy again, and 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 99 

with the other children — she missed them constantly. 
But her mother had taught her to regard all the little 
household affairs as “ duty,” and the work she loved as 
a mere indulgence, so that she still felt guilty if she 
gave up much time to it. Of course at home there were 
a hundred things to do; at St. Fortunes she had far more 
time, and no small worries. This, she persisted in think- 
ing, was the reason why she wished to stay there. 

She had got quite accustomed by this time to the 
society of the little town, and had made a place for her- 
self in the regard of many of the people there. Mrs. 
Murchison would have liked a handsome niece to take 
about with her, who would have been generally admired, 
but she could not deny that there was something singular 
about Susan which made her very attractive, though it 
was hard to put into words. It was a presence very 
soft, and bright, so unassertive of self that it might be 
easily overlooked, yet no one ever had much conversation 
with the girl who was not glad to see her when they met 
again. 

One night in December Susan went to one of their 
neighbor Miss Pringle’s little parties. The brilliantly 
lighted rooms, the glittering holly on the table, and the 
whole informal entertainment amongst people all of 
whom were now familiar to her, had been pleasant 
enough. Even to move from a chintz-covered sofa and 
conversation on schools with a widow, to a straight- 
backed chair and conversation with an elderly maiden 
lady upon jam, proved in her contented state of mind 
quite sufficiently amusing. Hot tea from very thin cups, 


I t'( 


100 THE ROSE OF JOY 

black plum cake and almond biscuits, no one unamiable, 
no strangers, no excitement — many more ambitious forms 
of hospitality fail to give as much pleasure. Susan sat 
in a corner beside stately old Miss Pringle, examining 
some miniatures and feeling quite pleased with life, when 
she looked up and saw that Mr. Stair had come in very 
late. He stood on the hearthrug talking away at a great 
rate; she could hear fragments of it — nonsense alto- 
gether. Suddenly he met her eyes and gave a little nod 
of recognition; then in another minute his whole face 
changed, and he came and stood in silence behind her 
chair. Susan handed him the miniature she had been 
looking at without a word. 

Miss Pringle was not an acutely observant person, but 
later in the evening she said to her sister-in-law, 44 It’s a 
great pity if that sweet girl goes and throws herself 
away upon Mr. Stair.” 

44 How can you say so? ” replied the other lady. 44 He 
stood beside her for half an hour and never said a single 
word.” 

Miss Pringle raised her black eyebrows. 44 Have you 
been wooed and married, Caroline, and don’t know that 
silence often means more than speech? Old maid as I 
am,” she added, giving a tolerably complacent glance at 
herself in the mirror, that reflected a still comely face 
and fine white hair, 44 I know better than that.” 

And Miss Pringle was right, for as Susan stood at 
the hall door amongst the departing guests Mr. Stair, 
without a single word, took his place beside her. Susan, 
holding what he mentally called 46 a fearful white shawl ” 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 101 
about her head, looked at him, saying, “ Are you coming 
home with me? Aunt Jane said she would send 
Wilson.” 

“ I came instead,” he answered ; and when the other 
guests had walked off or driven away they stepped out 
into the dark night together. The clock sweetly struck 
eleven. “ Yes,” said Dally, “ always reminding us that 
life is short ; as if we didn’t know that already. I think 
if I were not too busy to listen for it, that old clock would 
drive me mad. It’s like a text always before one’s eyes. 
Heigh-ho ! ” he sighed dismally. “ Take care ; there’s 
a step there,” he said, taking Susan’s hand in his. He 
sighed again. “ I’m the most miserable man alive.” 
Susan laughed softly. The lane was pitch-dark between 
its high walls except for the twinkle of a lamp away at 
the far end. “ Indeed, it’s true. Oh, you can’t imagine 
how horrible it was at the Hamiltons’ the other day.” 
Susan said nothing; and he went on, “Juliet was so 
beautiful. I shouldn’t have done it; it was only knock- 
ing my head against a wall, but this time I couldn’t help 
it. Oh, heavens ! Why are the wrong people always in 
the wrong place? If I were Archie Hamilton now she’d 
marry me like a shot ; I know she would.” 

“ Indeed, you’re quite wrong,” said Susan. “ Women 
are not like that.” 

“ You know nothing about it,” went on Mr. Stair, 
stumbling on a stone, and again taking Susan’s hand as 
he spoke, though it was he that had stumbled, not she. 
“ You’re as different from a woman like that as soap is 
from cheese. No, I don’t mean an ugly simile, but I 


102 THE ROSE OF JOY 

can’t think of another — as oil is from vinegar. You 

don’t understand them.” 

“ I know she has a tender heart.” 

44 Tender heart! ” Dally echoed bitterly. 44 Just like 
a peach — all pink plush outside, and hard as flint 
within.” 

44 You are quite wrong,” said Susan, unconsciously 
speaking to him as if he were a child. 44 She is not at 
all like that. Perhaps she does not like you.” 

44 She thinks me a fool, and I dare say I am; but if 
I were a duke she’d marry me all the same.” 

44 1 thought you said to me not long ago that you 
thought marriage one of the worst things in the world P ” 

44 Yes, I did ; so it is. And love is worse — the degrad- 
ing agonies of it ! ” He gave a sort of gasp, between a 
sigh and a snort, and as they passed under the dimly 
burning lamp at the corner of the wall Susan saw his 
piteous face. 

They stood for a moment at the door in the dark- 
ness, with the night wind blowing up from the sea, that 
plashed away against the moldering wall. The red 
windows, three in a row, were the only lights visible. 

44 1 think,” said Susan, 44 we ought not to feel like that, 
surely.” She spoke in a gentle, detached tone, as if the 
subject could have no connection with herself. 44 None 
of the great emotions of life can be degrading, if they’re 
taken in the right way.” 

44 Mine are, all of ’em — very” said Darnley. Wil- 
son opened the door, and the light streamed out. 

44 You’re like a grave little old Italian Madonna,” he 


103 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
exclaimed, as Susan turned on the lighted step to bid 
him good-night. “ And, by Jove! without her cap Wil- 
son would make a very tolerable Elizabeth. Hardly 
enough of the hag about her, though.” 

The door shut abruptly. “ Hag, indeed ! ” Susan 
heard Wilson mutter behind her. She had no opinion 
of Mr. Stair. 


CHAPTER XIV 


D ALLY was away for a fortnight before Christ- 
mas. Susan was very busy then, helping her 
aunt in various ways, and had little time for 
reflection. Still she hoped that he would return be- 
fore she had to go home. He came back two days be- 
fore she went. Susan had been sitting by herself that 
afternoon looking out on the black sea, that was visible 
above the line of snow-covered roofs. A gale had been 
blowing for some days, and the sea still heaved like an 
angry thing ; boats with shreds of sail were scudding be- 
fore the wind. The branches of the elm tree by the door 
were lifted (she thought) like pitiful hands to heaven. 
A winter sea, a terrible wind, a heavy sky, a cold and 
mourning land, it seemed. Suddenly she heard Mr. 
Stair’s voice in the hall, and felt herself getting quite red 
with pleasure when he came in. 

“ You’re still here,” he said, coming up to shake 
hands with her. “ Life is endurable, then, after all. I 
was afraid that you had gone home.” 

“ I am going next Monday.” 

“ For good? ” he asked blankly. 

“ Yes — for the present, at least. Mother wants me.” 
“ So do I,” said Damley, as if it were quite a natural 
remark. He noticed Susan’s heightened color all the 
same. 


104 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 105. 

She lay awake for a long time that night, hearing the 
town clock strike the hours, chiming through the noise 
of the wind and the distant growling of the still angry 
sea. At last she lighted her candle and tried to read a 
book, but one thought kept always recurring, as if with 
a little tug at her heart— the certainty that a crisis of 
some sort was creeping nearer in her life. She could not 
follow what she read. After a long time her eyes closed 
with sheer weariness, and she fell asleep. When she 
awoke the storm had subsided, and the morning was very 
bright. 

Although the sea’s voice was still rough, and spray 
fell in showers upon the streets, as waves broke against 
the walls, the sun shone out strongly, the air was brisk 
and refreshing. 

Susan went out early. She thought the little town 
that morning seemed very picturesque and full of cheery 
life. The street was blocked by the great carts from the 
brewery; a smell of malt mingled with the brine of the 
spray that drenched the sea wall ; the huge horses 
champed and scrambled up the hill ; a boat with stripped 
masts rocked upon the waves close to shore. Susan 
watched the masts go up and down, thinking how cold 
the men must be that worked the ropes. Half-way down 
the street she found herself accosted by Mr. Stair. 
He wore a new coat, and his face was red with cold. 
Susan suddenly realized how dull the town had been 
without him, and she beamed with pleasure as they 
met. 

“ Let us go up the Red Lane, then we can hear our- 


106 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
selves speak. Oh, confound it! There’s not room to 
move here,” he said. 

He had to squeeze his slight person against the wall 
to let a cart pass as he spoke. They turned up one of 
the grotesque by-lanes that led off the main street, and 
then they both began to laugh, for as they entered the 
lane they saw at one corner a small, poorly clad boy, 
quite alone, and standing on his head. He turned a 
somersault as they approached, snatched up his basket, 
and scudded past them on his bare, red feet. 

44 There’s joie de vivre for you,” said Dally; 44 1 feel 
just like that to-day. I can understand it perfectly, in 
this icy weather, all alone in a high-walled lane, just 
standing on one’s head with pleasure. At my age it 
mightn’t do.” 

44 What did you do in London ? ” Susan inquired. 

Dally walked her nearly into the ditch in his excite- 
ment. His gray eyes glittered. His shapely figure 
looked very well in the new coat. 

44 Oh, I’ve had such a wallow ! ” he began. 44 At least, 
you know, I mean I’ve managed to enjoy myself so much. 
I’ve heard music fit to break your heart, and gone to the 
play, and — and stood on my head, in fact, and it’s blown 
away my cobwebs ; but I’m so glad you’re here when I’ve 
come back.” 

They walked on for a little way. A cart passed the 
opening of the lane, the driver singing lustily. 

44 Susan,” said Dally suddenly, and Susan started, 
stopped, raised her eyes to his for a moment, and then 
backed against the wall, and stood stock-still with her 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 107 
hands in her muff, her eyes on the ground, and her heart 
beating very fast. 44 It will be awful here without you,” 
Dally went on. 44 The week you were away before was 
like a year. You’re not going away again? Don’t be 
frightened, there’s a good girl: I’m not going to eat you. 
You see, Miss Crawford — Susan — my dear — the plain 
fact is that I have spoken to your uncle, who with his 
usual tact (you can fancy the way it was done, can’t 
you?) said plainly that, if you’d marry me, he’d take me 
into partnership. There’s my fortune made, you see. 
Do it for my sake — do, Susan, do. I’d be so happy — 
I’d be such a much better man if you’d do it. I love you 
so,” he ended lamely, in a way that touched Susan’s 
heart. 

44 But I don’t,” she began. 

Mr. Stair interrupted her eagerly, 44 Now I know what 
you’re going to say — you’re not in love with me. Of 
course you aren’t. Why should you be? I tell you it’s 
not at all nice. I’ve been there — I know all about it, and 
it’s just horrible, and it wears off too — like anything!” 
He sighed largely. 44 See, Susan, how well we get on. A 
woman ought to be better than her husband. Some day 
we’ll have more money, and then we’ll travel together and 
see all the fun in the world. I’ll take you to Rome, and 
you can live there for a year, if you like, and grub in the 
galleries.” He paused breathless, then went on again 
before Susan had time to speak, 44 But just one thing — 
before you answer me I want to tell you something about 
myself — it was something that happened years ago, 
when I first went to college.” 


108 THE ROSE OF JOY 

Susan had walked on. She looked up at him : her face 
was pale and her lips trembled. 

“ Was it about a woman? ” she asked, a sudden tide of 
crimson flooding her whole face up to the roots of her 
hair. 

Dally looked at her wonderingly, forgetting for a 
moment the thread of his discourse. “ Yes, of course ; 
what else would it be? ” 

“ Then,” said Susan, turning to look at him, “ I’d 
rather not hear it, please — it will make no difference — at 
least I cannot explain to you what I’d feel about it, but 
I do not wish to hear it.” 

“ ’Twas more folly, damned (I’m sorry !) boyish folly, 
than wrong. I got off easy, too, in the end, thank 
Heaven ! ” Dally mixed his words, took off his hat, and 
rubbed his hair on end in his agitation. They had 
reached the door by this time. 

“ Thank you,” said Susan, “ thank you very much.” 

“ When will you answer me? ” he asked. 

“ I’m going home to-morrow.” 

“ Will you tell me then? ” 

“ No,” said Susan, “ I can’t.” 

“ I shall come and see you at home.” 

Susan was silent. 

“ When may I come? Next week? ” 

“ Next week is Christmas. Come the week after that.” 

“Very well, I will come then. Shake hands, won’t 
you ? ” 

Susan hurried into the house, panting, afraid that 
anyone should see her face. 


CHAPTER XV 


S USAN went home two days before Christmas. 
The season was not kept as a festival at Mrs. 
Crawford’s, but the children ate many oranges, 
and got a few cheap little presents. They were all very 
happy because Susan had come back again. Emily had 
grown into a tall girl, considerably older in manner, 
even in the few months of her sister’s absence. She had, 
by nature, more of the household faculties than Susan, 
and helped her mother a good deal, looking after the 
two little ones with a funny air of a grown-up woman, 
part of her late acquirements. 

The country at that season was indescribably bleak; 
the sallow fields covered with patches of half-melted 
snow. Susan felt the sadness of it weigh upon her heart 
— there was no light or color anywhere. Emmy found 
some subtle difference in her sister. 

“ You are thinking about something else, Sue,” she 
said suddenly, after she had given Susan a long descrip- 
tion of the tiny events that had taken place during the 
winter. 

Susan started and blushed, and shook herself. “ Yes, 
Emmy, I was. It was very rude of me; please tell me 
again what you were saying.” 

Emmy prattled on, unconscious that between her and 
her listener was an unseen presence — Mr. Stair, with his 

109 


110 THE ROSE OF JOY 

ugly face and his quick eyes. Susan could not forget 

him as she had seen him last. 

On Christmas Eve, after the house was quiet and the 
children all in bed, Susan went by herself and stood at 
the open door. 

There the pure wind, blowing across miles of open 
country, stirred the orchard branches. She heard no 
sound, she saw no lights ; all was vast, and dark, and 
lonely. Her imagination saw the dreary village street, 
with its miry roadway and little shuttered houses 
“ asleep or dead,” in the midst of this desolate country, 
without even a church to testify its part in the cheerful 
festival that the rest of the world was keeping then. 
For a minute she wondered to herself, as youth will, if 
she would live her whole life out in this dark and curious 
isolation, for she had tasted the pleasures of the sun. 
Everything in her nature ran to meet what was lovely, 
dignified, or touched with romance; when she found 
nothing without, she turned and found it within. But 
of late it had seemed as if something had been broken — 
the accord with nature, the easy access to a bright world 
of thought. Instead came only excited, weariful ques- 
tionings about what reply she was going to give to Dally 
Stair. “ I shall tell him to go away,” she thought, “ and 
be done with it all, and think no more about it.” Then, 
again, she reflected on what it would be to “ go on living 
always at home,” as she expressed it, for she knew she 
could not go back to St. Fortunes if he were there. Yet 
not to go back, never to see him, to lose that bright com- 
panionship that had made the winter so pleasant. How 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 111 

could she bear to do that? And he had said that he 
would come in three days. She wondered if she should 
speak to her mother. Then the absurdity of the thought 
made her smile. 

“ Mother, Mr. Stair is coming here on Wednesday, he 
said,” she remarked to Mrs. Crawford, as they sat alone 
together in the evening. 

“ Dear me, I saw him at your aunt’s in winter. He is 
very ugly,” said Mrs. Crawford, adding, “ but he may 
be clever enough, for all that. Your uncle likes him.’ 4 

“ Yes, he is very ugly,” said Susan, laughing and 
suddenly defending him in her heart. 

Mrs. Crawford seemed unconsciously stirred to one 
of her vague reminiscences. “ 1 remember, when I was 
jmung, a very ugly man who used to come about our 
house a great deal. He had a hare lip, but he played on 
the flute, and admired your Aunt Jane.” 

Susan wondered if her mother drew any conclusions 
from what she had said. She could not nerve herself to 
say any more. Mr. Stair at any rate neither played the 
flute nor had a hare lip. 


CHAPTER XVI 


T HERE are some states of mind in which those 
philosophers appear to be in the right who 
declare that we have no more power to choose 
which of two courses we shall follow, than a clock has 
power to choose if it will strike six or eight when its hands 
have crept to the appointed hour. 

We may spend the whole night in an agony of in- 
decision, and by morning find that we are no nearer a 
conclusion, although we know that before the sun has 
set again, act we must, in one way or another. 

For two days Susan pondered the matter: one hour 
she could not, the next she would not. She turned from 
the thought of marriage with terror; knowing nothing 
about it, and having only a dim, romantic idea of what 
love meant. 

On Wednesday morning she at last determined that 
she must speak to her mother. Mrs. Crawford was in 
her own room, and Susan sat down wondering how best 
to open the subject. 

44 Mother,” she began suddenly, 44 Mr. Stair has asked 
me to marry him.” 

Mrs. Crawford, standing in front of the glass, was in 
the act of pinning on her cap. She was not easily sur- 
prised, but now she turned as quickly as she could turn, 
and said solemnly: 


112 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 113 

“ Susan, you are a fortunate girl.” She held the cap 
in her hand as she spoke. Her head had the hair on it 
brushed as flat and smooth as possible; she was getting 
rather bald. 44 A most fortunate girl,” she repeated. 
Susan sat silent. 

44 What,” said Mrs. Crawford, laying down her cap 
and taking Susan by the hand, “ is it possible, Susan, 
that you don’t know your own mind — that you could 
ever think — that you don’t realize what a good thing it 
would be for you? Why, it was only the last day she 
was here that Jane told me that her husband fully in- 
tended to make Mr. Stair his partner ! Your uncle is 
very fond of the young man. He belongs to a well- 
known family, though they are poor. I must say I 
thought him remarkably pleasant the two or three times 
that I have seen him.” She spoke with some earnestness, 
and as near an approach to excitement as her torpid 
manner would allow. 

44 I don’t think I want to do it, mother,” said 
Susan. 

44 I hope,” said Mrs. Crawford, “ that you are not 
thinking any nonsense about being in love, Susan. That 
is quite a mistake.” 

Still Susan was silent. 

44 Don’t you like him ? ” 

44 Yes, mother, very much.” 

44 Dear me ! ” said Mrs. Crawford cheerfully, 44 what 
more do you want P I quite remember, when I was a girl, 
fancying myself in love several times. Indeed, I think ” 
(she said this with a smile) 64 1 fancied myself in love 


114 THE ROSE OF JOY 

with two or three people before I met your father; but 

one soon forgets all that nonsense.” 

44 I don’t know anything about it,” said Susan. 

“ Of course,” said Mrs. Crawford, 44 I should never 
urge you, as some people would do, to marry Mr. Stair 
merely because he will be wealthy. You see so few young 
men. When I was a girl they were always asking me. 
Your father was the fourth — no, the fifth, I think; but 
then we lived in a garrison town, not in a place like this.” 

44 And you were so pretty, weren’t you, mother? ” said 
Susan wearily. She began to feel as if she were choking 
in a fog. 

44 I was a good deal admired, I suppose,” said Mrs. 
Crawford, with an expression of watery satisfaction at 
the remembrance. 44 But all girls fancy themselves in 
love. It’s all nonsense,” she concluded, with a comfort- 
able return to the circle of her first argument. 

Susan remembered Daily’s more fervid warnings, but 
was not convinced by either of them. Somewhere in her 
own heart she felt conscious of a capacity for a feeling 
that as yet she knew nothing of. 

All day she tried to busy herself about the house, but 
it was very difficult, and her heart leapt suddenly at the 
sound of Dally Stair’s voice in the hall. She ran up to 
her own room like a frightened child. Emily was stand- 
ing by the window. Her pinafore and her long hair 
gave Susan a sudden sense of hopelessness. A child like 
that could give her no assistance. 

44 Someone came in just now, Sue,” cried Emmy. 
44 Your cheeks are all red. Who is it? May I go down? 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 115 

Oh, please, I like Mr. Stair so very much.” And she 
ran downstairs, to come up again in a few minutes 
breathless. 44 Oh, Susan, it’s something dreadfully im- 
portant ! He asked to speak alone with mother ; she sent 
me away ! ” 

As the child was speaking, Mrs. Crawford came into 
the room. 44 Go away, Emily,” she said ; 44 1 wish to 
speak to Susan.” 

This was indeed an event. Emily, awestruck, with- 
drew to linger on the landing. 

44 Susan,” said Mrs. Crawford, consciously important, 
44 Mr. Stair has spoken to me in a very suitable manner.” 
Susan quickly reflected that 44 suitable ” was not a word 
she could ever fancy applicable to any manner of Mr. 
Stair’s. 44 I wish you to go down and see him yourself.” 

44 Very well,” said Susan. Her face was set and grave, 
but she had not entered the drawing room before she 
realized that Dally was much less terrifying to her than 
any discussion of the subject with her mother would have 
been. 

44 Well, well, well? ” said he quickly, coming across the 
room to meet her. 

44 Oh, please,” said Susan, taking the soft, warm hand, 
44 I don’t know what to say to you ! ” She looked up at 
him again like a frightened child, then a smile came into 
her arch blue eyes. It seemed so easy to make him 
happy. 

44 1 — think — it’s all right,” she said. Dally put his 
arm about her, his face quivering with feeling, and did 
just the one thing that Susan would have liked best, for 


116 THE ROSE OF JOY 

he lifted her hands and laid them softly against his face, 
and said nothing. “ I was afraid you were going to 
kiss me,” said Susan, recovering her usual ease with him, 
and looking up at him very artlessly. 

“ Well, of course, a man can make but one reply to 
that,” said Dally. But Susan drew back with such an 
expression of real alarm that he began to laugh. 

She hardly knew after that what he went on to say, 
or what she said, and for once it was a relief to her when 
her mother came into the room. The situation seemed 
to be cleared up and simplified by Dally saying joy- 
ously : 

“ You must wish us happiness, Mrs. Crawford.” 
Susan felt that anything that would come as an interrup- 
tion or rescue her from that moment of helpless con- 
fusion of feeling was a relief ; even though it fast- 
ened her in a tighter chain, it gave her time to breathe 
for an instant. Mrs. Crawford pressed Daily’s hand, 
and proceeded to fold Susan in her arms, feeling this 
was exactly what she ought to do. She was vaguely 
surprised by the warmth with which the girl clung to 
her in response. 

“ You do love me a little then?” said Dally, as he 
stood with Susan by the door, before saying good-by. 

“ I hope so — I like you so very, very much,” she an- 
swered. Dally stooped and kissed her, before he went 
away. Susan stood by the door in the twilight, after he 
had ridden off, and rubbed her face with her hand, but 
could not forget the strange feeling of the touch of his 
shaven cheek against her own, so different from anything 


117 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
she had felt before. Nothing will so soon teach even the 
most ignorant the nature of love as being called on to 
pretend that they possess it. It is like being suddenly 
expected to act a scene when you have not learnt your 
part. 


CHAPTER XVII 


S USAN’S first waking thought the next morning 
was that the sun shone brightly and had thrown 
a beautiful shadow on the blind. A branch of the 
creeping plant that spread all over the front of the house 
had grown nearly across the window, and now the shadow 
of it, sharp and beautiful, fell upon the white blind, and 
Susan lifted her head from the pillow with a quick recog- 
nition of its beauty; the next minute she remembered 
that she had wakened to a new world, a bad world, a 
prison, it seemed. 

“ Well, Susan,” said her mother after breakfast, “ you 
had better see to the mending to-day, and try to tidy 
the storeroom. You will soon be having a house of your 
own, I suppose, so you should attend to all those things.” 
Susan did not answer. She stooped as if to pick some- 
thing up from the floor, and left the room as quickly as 
she could. 

The children were delighted with the fine day. After 
the dark wintry weather, it was as if spring were coming 
before long. The patches of snow in the fields melted in 
the sun. The sparrows twittered in the bushes by the 
door. 

“ We are going for a long walk, children. Come, 
Emmy,”, called Susan, going into the garden. The rab- 

118 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 119 
bits were instantly replaced in their hutches, and Emily 
walked with Susan, whilst the little ones ran in front. 
Emily wondered what made her sister so silent. She 
glanced up at her from under the torn rim of her old 
straw hat, and Susan read an unintelligent sympathy in 
the soft black eyes. How she wished that Emily had been 
a few years older ! 

“May we go to the Prince and Princess, please?” 
said Emmy, and Susan consented. 

It was a favorite walk at all seasons ; even on a winter 
day there was “ nothing dismal about it,” the children 
said. 

They went across several fields, past the thorn tree 
where they had gone with Colonel Hamilton to hear the 
lark sing, down a grassy dell, between two low ridges of 
land, till they came to a flat open space where a little 
stream made a pretty curve and return, leaving a green 
elbow almost surrounded with water. Where the stream 
was narrowest two low alder trees stood, one on each side 
of the bank. Their bushy heads, now bare and purple, 
mingled above the stream ; each trunk leaned slightly to 
the other. The grass at their feet was short and full of 
moss. 

Often in summer Susan sat here with the children for 
hours, plaiting rattles of rushes, watching the minnows 
in the burn. The children begged to be allowed to play 
at the edge for a little now; so Susan sat down on a 
stone, and spread out her skirt that Emily might sit at 
her side. The clear air was chill, and smelt of moss and 
water. The burn bubbled and gurgled, swollen with the 


120 THE ROSE OF JOY 

melting snows. Emmy leant her head against Susan’s 

knee. 

“ Tell me again, just once, about the Prince and 
Princess,” she pleaded. 

Susan had made a tale for her of the usual fairy sort; 
of an unhappy Princess and a lonely Prince, changed by 
an Enchanter into two trees that grew forever leaning 
towards each other on opposite sides of the stream. She 
looked up at them now ; their purple branches made a 
regal coloring against the faint blue of the winter sky. 
They did lean towards each other ; their branches mingled 
overhead ; they seemed to want to meet, she thought, as a 
sudden consciousness of her own feelings when Dally 
kissed her rushed into her mind. Her whole thoughts 
burned. What, what was this? She who knew nothing 
of love, to be suddenly spoken to by a tree? No, she 
didn’t understand a word of it ; she would not, she could 
not. Emmy’s prattle, and the bubbling burn at her feet, 
grew like the noises in a dream. She sat up suddenly, 
indignant with herself and the unknown force that 
seemed to have enveloped her. The gates to her beauti- 
ful inner world were shut. Where was she? Awake, in 
a dreary place that she knew nothing about. 

“ Tell me again about the Prince and Princess,” Emily 
went on, with a child’s relentlessness, “ and the dark 
wood, and the jeweled sword he wore that lighted them 
through.” 

“ No, no, Emmy ; I’m tired — I can’t talk,” said Susan, 
with an irritation unlike herself. The little girl was 
silent. A rook flew, slowly cawing, above them. 


121 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

“ Could that be a rook from Linfield, Sue? Perhaps 
it’s the black knight — Jack Hamilton said there was one. 
Can it be, please? ” 

“ Oh, don’t ! 99 called Susan, and ended by bursting 
into tears. “ I’m cross and tired to-day, dearest,” she 
said. Emmy, awed, got up and walked beside her in 
silence. Susan could not look at those trees for another 
moment. She did not know the saying that “ Nature 
never yet betrayed,” but she could have contradicted it 
then, if she had. Not “ betrayed ” perhaps, but she is 
implacable to those who have a divided heart. She has 
nothing to say to them. Susan felt herself shut out. Was 
she acting an untruth? She might perhaps love him in 
time. Did she love him? Oh, it would never do! How 
should she ever get out of this horrible entanglement — 
this invisible snare? Would Dally understand if she 
told him? Did she know her own mind? And so on — 
round and round, like a squirrel in a cage. Was it cred- 
ible that she herself had done it ? Surely she must waken 
soon, and find it all a dream? And marriage? The word 
choked her; she rubbed her cheek, and shrank from the 
very remembrance of his kiss, like a shying horse that sees 
some terror ahead. Only yesterday how free and happy 
she had been. 

“ Is Mr. Stair a brave man, Sue? ” asked Emmy sud- 
denly. 

“ Oh, really, Emmy, I don’t know ! I suppose so. 
All men are.” 

“ No, indeed; I’m sure they’re not. Lady Agnes told 
me a brave man was only afraid of himself.” Susan 


122 THE ROSE OF JOY 

made no answer. Emmy, encouraged, went on : “ And, 
Susan, when Mr. Stair came in the other day mother had 
let me turn out her mending basket, and there were stock- 
ings on all the chairs, so that he couldn’t get one to sit 
down on, and he said it didn’t matter, and he laughed.” 

That Susan could well believe, but she felt a sympathy 
with Darnley’s amusement — doubtless his disgust. She 
was a traitor and a coward, and everything about her was 
all wrong, so surely a house like theirs was the fitting ac- 
companiment for all that. 

“ I mean to be very tidy when I am grown up — indeed, 
almost immediately,” Emmy went on. “ Lady Agnes 
said an untidy woman was like a soiled book; but Miss 
Clephane puts pins in things often, all the same. I saw 
her pin her lace one day, and she said, 6 Oh, it ’ll do,’ to 
Parker. When I am married, Susan, I mean to wear 
nothing but the richest black silk, and to be very calm.” 
They entered the house, and Emmy flung her torn hat on 
the hall table and rushed upstairs, while Mrs. Crawford 
came out to complain that a hen had got into the dining 
room, and “ wouldn't go out." 

“ I’ll put it out, mother,” said Susan wearily. It all 
seemed as horrid to her as a distasteful joke. Did no one 
feel anything except herself? she wondered. 

That evening Susan tried to occupy herself in vain. 
Would Dally soon come again? She hoped not, and yet 
could not help remembering how his manner had pleased 
her. What a refreshment his company would be ! It was 
quite a relief when Mrs. Murchison unexpectedly arrived 
next morning. She came out of her little carriage well 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 123 
dressed, with a cheerful, resolute manner that Susan 
found exceedingly soothing. Mrs. Crawford had written 
to her about Susan and Dally. Whatever her opinion 
was she said very little, only telling the girl that her 
uncle was very much pleased, and that he was going to 
make Mr. Stair his partner. 

“ And now you must just let Susan come back with 
me, Maria, for how in the world can she get anything 
ready up here P ” she said, glancing at Susan, and notic- 
ing that she did not look so well as when she left St. 
Fortunes. 

Mrs. Crawford protested, but after all she had to ad- 
mit that Burrie Bush was not quite the locality in which 
to get a wedding outfit, and as Mrs. Murchison proposed 
to provide most of the things herself, she gave her con- 
sent to Susan’s going back with her. 

“ Shall I see him again ? ” was Susan’s only thought, 
as she returned to St. Fortunes with her aunt. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


S HE did not, however, see Dally again for some 
weeks. He had to go away on business, during 
which time he sent her constant and very lover- 
like letters — a branch of art in which he rather excelled. 
There was a naivete about his style and his expressions. 
Susan could never remain untouched by excellence in any- 
thing, and these epistles of Daily’s, which to a coarser in- 
telligence would only have given cause for laughter, were 
an intense pleasure to her. The sense of satisfaction they 
gave her set her heart at rest for the time being. She 
read and reread them, and persuaded herself that she was 
foolish to think she did not love him. Mrs. Murchison 
was not very well pleased about the marriage, but her 
husband was delighted. He said that there was no one 
he would have liked so much to take into the business as 
Mr. Stair. 46 And as for that old name of yours, Dally,” 
he said, with a chuckle, 46 it may be infra dig. to have it 
on bottles and casks, but it’s not for nothing.” 

So it was all arranged. The marriage was to take 
place early in April ; Dally and Susan were to return to 
St. Fortunes and occupy the Murchisons’ house for a 
while, when the old people went abroad for some months. 
Susan received rather a dry letter from Daily’s mother, 
who regretted that, as the state of her husband’s health 
made it impossible for her to leave home even for a day, 

124 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 125 
she would not be able to attend the wedding, but two of 
her daughters hoped to be there. In the meantime they 
would much like to meet Susan, if she could go into Edin- 
burgh and see them there. Daily’s married sister, Mrs. 
Bracebridge, also wrote a kind enough, prim letter, ask- 
ing Susan to come and stay with them for a little, and 
make acquaintance with her sisters. 

“ Take my advice, Susan, and don’t go,” said Mrs. 
Murchison. “ Carrie and Louisa Stair are well enough. 
Poor things ! they’ve a hard time of it. I’ve often had 
them here to lunch — red-haired, thin, and prouder than 
they’re poor. People like that will be fond of you when 
you’re their own, but keep out of their way till 
then.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t want to go, but I do not want to 
be rude,” said Susan, who was anxious only to do right. 
But Dally, on his return, declared that she must go into 
town, at least for the day, to see his people. 

“ They can’t ask you to Striven, when my poor father 
is so ill,” he said, “ but Minna would never forgive you if 
you didn’t go to pay your respects to her. You’ve no 
idea how dull Minna is ! But so sensible. She just 
4 took ’ Bracebridge at once, though he’s a face like a 
potato, and a mother like a feather-bed, and the strongest 
religious principles — and his grandfather kept a shop,” 
said Mr. Stair (adding the true reason for his wonder, as 
Susan knew). “ There’s not one woman in twenty would 
have done it; they’d have been encouraged by his pro- 
posal to think that if they waited they’d get another, but 
Minna knew better — though she’s not so ugly as the 


126 THE ROSE OF JOY 

others.” He paused, adding reflectively, “ If I were a 

woman I’d far rather be beautiful than good.” 

“ Oh, Darnley,” said Susan, “ think what you’re say- 
ing ! ” 

“I do ; I’m sure I would, and what’s more, I believe 
almost every woman you mention would say the same. 
My sisters would, if their timid imaginations could ex- 
tend so far.” 

“ I am not at all beautiful,” said Susan. 

“ Bread’s not strawberries,” retorted Dally, with one 
of his quick glances, “ but it’s the staff* of life.” 

So they went into town together, and a very miserable 
day it was to Susan — a day of coarse east wind and 
violent showers of cutting rain. Her hair was all di- 
sheveled by the wind, her eyes smarted, and her hands 
trembled with agitation as they came up to Mrs. Brace- 
bridge’s door. 

“ Please, Dally, don’t stay long ! ” she whispered as 
they crossed the hall. 

They were shown into a room where three women all 
rose to meet them. One was young, comely, and richly 
dressed — only reddish in coloring; the other two older, 
very red and yellow, and very shabby in their clothing. 

“They do wear such awful clothes, poor things!” 
said Dally to Susan afterwards. “ I don’t admire yours 
always, dearest ; but, ’pon my word, they looked just as 
if they had trimmed their jackets with dead kittens.” 

Susan greeted them timidly. Mrs. Bracebridge gave 
her a seat facing the light, and began to talk to her in 
little stupid sentences, her quick eyes meanwhile noticing 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 127 
every detail of Susan’s appearance. Susan was very 
much embarrassed. She looked to Dally for assistance, 
but he was sitting sideways on a high chair, leaning his 
chin on the back of it, and gazing absently at the fire, 
paying not the slightest heed to anything that his sister 
said. The others sat stiffly, putting in an occasional re- 
mark in low, hesitating voices. Susan felt she liked both 
of them better than Mrs. Bracebridge. 

Someone else came in, so Susan was released for a 
little. Dally pulled her sleeve. 44 See, Susan ; look here,” 
he said, and she turned round. 

On the floor beside the window there was a low tub, 
or basket, of considerable size, entirely filled with moss 
and primroses. The spring at St. Fortunes had been 
late ; Susan had seen very few spring flowers as yet. The 
suddenness, the richness of it, the unexpected call to her 
*heart in the midst of alien surroundings, made her gasp 
with pleasure. She clasped both her little hands before 
her, almost in an attitude of adoration, and her whole 
face glowed with delight. 

“ Oh, Dally,” she said, “ what a gift of spring ! ” 

44 Aren’t they sweet? ” said Mrs. Bracebridge, who had 
come up behind him. 

“ It brings back the morning of the world,” said 
Susan, raising her eyes, brimming with delight. 

44 H’m, yes,” said Minna, turning slightly away. 

“ Minna wasn’t there, you know,” said Dally, grin- 
ning. 44 She can’t remember like you.” 

44 You are such a goose, Darnley,” said Minna. 

She then gave them tea, and three children of the 


128 THE ROSE OF JOY 

usual ages appeared, with nicely brushed hair and round, 

inexpressive faces. They all, somehow, very soon, found 

their way to Susan’s chair. She felt happier as she 

talked on to their mother with her arms about the whole 

three. 

“ They are darlings,” she said to Dally, when she and 
he were walking away from the house. 

“ Not at all, they are as dull as they can be ; still, I’m 
surprised they’re not worse,” he went on, turning up the 
collar of his coat with a shiver, as they faced the icy 
wind. “ I’d have thought that Minna would have had 
dolls, not children. Eh ! it’s an awful thing to be mar- 
ried. If it weren’t just the sweetness of you, Susan, 
nothing would ever induce me to do it.” 

He looked very nice as he said this, laughing, and 
Susan felt her misgivings laid for the time. She breathed 
freely now that the ordeal of meeting Daily’s sisters was 
over. The darkness was gathering about the little town 
as they drove home. Susan, chill and tired, got out at 
the door and gave Dally her hand. 

“ I hope I am doing right,” she said. 

“ Pooh ! Go in and have dinner, and don’t talk non- 
sense,” said Dally. 


CHAPTER XIX 


T IME seemed to fly to Susan just then, and 
every morning she awoke to realize that the 
wedding day was nearer. At last it came to 
be only a fortnight, then a week. 

She had allowed her aunt to choose most of her things, 
content only if Dally did not call them ugly, which he 
very often did, if she asked his opinion. 

She got a few wedding gifts. Dally bought a neck- 
lace for her. It was very extravagant, of course, and 
Susan knew that he should not have done it, but it was 
a thing of intrinsic beauty, and he offered it in a way 
that was delightful. 

Mrs. Crawford was pleased by the marriage, in so far 
as she was capable of pleasure. Before the day fixed 
for the wedding she made a few renovations in the house. 
A gardener was hired to tidy up the garden and mow 
the neglected grass. Little tracks showed across it much 
the same as ever in spite of this, and the spot where the 
rabbit hutches stood (they were removed for the time) 
had not the best effect from the drawing-room window. 
Mrs. Crawford had got an old silk dress made up by a 
local dressmaker, with a great deal of crape upon it, also 
a new cap with long streamers. She felt this wedding 
was a great occasion, in some way connected with the 

129 


130 THE ROSE OF JOY 

funeral of her husband, and was stirred by the feeling 

to talk a good deal about that melancholy event. 

“ It will be the same horses, Susan,” she said sadly. 

“ What, mother? When? ” 

“ Mrs. Reid has no other pair,” continued Mrs. Craw- 
ford. “ One of them is quite gray now. I remember it 
was dappled even then.” 

“ Oh, mother, I think Dally will provide a carriage, if 
we have to drive to the station.” 

Two Crawford relatives were coming from Ireland, 
and Susan had an instinctive feeling that they would 
not add to the harmony of the household. She remem- 
bered their having come to visit at Burrie Bush some 
years ago, and how with airs of- strenuous elegance and 
great self-repression they had spent three days. That 
was during Captain Crawford’s lifetime, and Susan had 
a pathetic memory of how, ill though he was, her father 
had brushed himself up, and tried to be like his old self 
during their stay; also that one lady had said to the 
other, not supposing the children understood, “ Would 
Monday do? ” to which the other replied, “ No, I think it 
must be Tuesda} T ,” and at an early hour on Tuesday 
morning they had escaped. Now, pleased by the Stair 
alliance, they had of their own accord proposed to come 
to the marriage. Mrs. Crawford came in with the letter 
to the schoolroom, where Susan was writing notes. She 
had been knitting what was supposed to be a white sock, 
and had left the ball of wool in the other room, but trailed 
the thread along with her. 

“ Susan,” she said, “ your grandaunt Crawford and 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 131 
Mrs. O’Brien want to come to the wedding. Do you 
think, for once, they would mind putting up in the 
nursery, as we haven’t a room? ” 

“ I don’t think that would do, mother. Ask Aunt 
Jane to take them and drive them up in the morning.” 

“ Jane could never abide them,” said Mrs. Crawford; 
“ they were not quite polite to Mr. Murchison, and the 
grandmother was French, you know.” 

“ Ask Miss Mi t ford then ; she offered to take anyone.” 

“ Well, we might do that,” said her mother doubt- 
fully, “ but you see she is so strongly Protestant.” 

“ But they aren’t Roman Catholics, mother, are 
they? ” 

“ No,” said Mrs. Crawford, discovering that she had 
dropped her ball of wool and languidly pulling up yards 
of thread, “ they are not, but everything Irish is apt to 
be like that.” 

“ I will go this afternoon and ask Miss Mitford to 
take them,” said Susan. Miss Mitford was an old friend 
of her mother’s, who lived some three miles away in the 
direction of St. Fortunes. 

“ Oh, Susan, it’s too far ! ” 

“ I should like the walk, mother ; I am tired of being 
so much in the house,” said the girl. She did look pale 
and worried. Mrs. Crawford was incapable of any ar- 
rangements ; Mrs. Murchison, it is true, gave a good deal 
of assistance, was going to send over quantities of flowers 
and nearly all the food that would be required, as well 
as putting up Daily’s sisters and Mrs. Bracebridge, but 
she was not on the spot, and Susan had no capacity for 


132 THE ROSE OF JOY 

such preparations. Colonel Hamilton and Juliet had 
written to her very kindly, saying that they ^two and 
Archie Hamilton would all come to the wedding. They 
would go to the inn for the night, Juliet said. Archie 
was staying at a house in the neighborhood (so Dally 
told Susan) 44 and came to see me in the office with his 
confounded airs.” 

44 I did not quite like him when I saw him at home,” 
said Susan, 44 but I do not think he has airs.” 

44 He has, though ! Airs of a subtle kind that tease 
me. My hair may be red, and I am sc brewer, but he’s a 
beast.” 

44 Oh, Daruley, that’s just about the last thing anyone 
could call him, I’m sure.” 

44 Well, a very, very superior beast, and if you can’t 
fancy what that is you’ve got no imagination,” said Mr. 
Stair. 

Susan mentally placed Archie along with the Irish 
relatives as people whom she would rather not have had at 
her wedding, but after all it was kind of Daily’s people 
to be so good to her, and she was more or less indifferent 
to all the outside world, at that time feeling horribly 
isolated from everyone. She wished that Juliet had been 
coming sooner — perhaps she would have understood some 
things without explanation. 

That afternoon Susan came down prepared for her 
walk to Miss Mitford’s, with a sensation again of walking 
in a dream. 

The wedding-cake, covered in a shroud-like sheet, was 
on the schoolroom table, and the rich faint smell of it 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 133 
made Susan feel sick. Pots of greenhouse plants filled 
the lobby ; Mrs. Murchison had brought them up the day 
before, and their scent too made the air heavy. 

How time had moved on ! The world would roll round, 
nothing could stop it for a moment. She felt as if she 
were being resistlessly borne onwards by some great wheel 
that she could not arrest. On Thursday — on Thursday, 
she kept saying to herself. 

Emmy ran up to her with a note from Dally which 
had just come, and stood by on tiptoe to watch Susan 
read it. 

Emmy’s presence was the brightest thing about the 
house just then; she doted on Dally, and was wild with 
delight and excitement, varied by occasional weeps at 
the thought of Susan changing her name, for she rightly 
judged that no change would take place in Susan’s love 
for them. She danced about the house with her long 
black pigtail hanging over her shoulder, her pale face lit 
with excitement, and glorying in the thought of being 
allowed to wear a longish skirt of white muslin at the 
marriage. 

“ Is there anything wrong, Sue? ” she asked, watching 
Susan’s face. 

“No, darling — no, Emmy; only the friend whom 
Dally had asked to be his best man is ill, and can’t come.” 

“Won’t there be any then?” said Emmy dolefully. 
“ I’m sure a best boy would do quite well ; and Alec looks 
so big in his new suit.” 

“ Dally has asked Mr. Hamilton if he will do it,” said 
Susan. 


134 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ Oh,” said Emmy, “ don’t you think that’s nice? ” 

“ I don’t know him well,” said Susan. 

“ I liked him ever so much, Sue — he looks so angelic- 
ally fine and severe. I’m the only bridesmaid, so he’ll 
have to speak to me, and my skirt comes quite to the 
ankles, doesn’t it ? ” 

Refusing Emmy’s company, Susan set out to walk to 
Miss Mitford’s house, which was nearly three miles away. 
She was glad to escape from the bustle at home into the 
wide silence of the empty fields. 

“ It will be all right when once I am married,” she 
kept saying to herself. “ After all, how could I just 
live on at home? I do love him — I must.” 

It was a dull, cloudy afternoon as she went on slowly 
across the fields. The sky was dark and the roads heavy 
from recent rain. After walking about two miles, Susan 
stood still and looked down. She had reached the brow of 
a low hill. There the land sloped gradually and stretched 
away to the distant sea, that was partly veiled in fog. 
Behind a clump of elm trees in the distance rose the 
chimneys of Rexhill, the house where Archie Hamilton 
was staying. Susan remembered Daily’s note again 
with a twinge of dismay that she could hardly have ex- 
plained, but she had an unacknowledged feeling that 
Daily’s frailties would not be condoned by his cousin. 
She gazed down at the fog wreaths that hid the sea, and 
saw for a moment a far-away white speck — a ship with 
outspread sails, struck by a gleam of sun, tracked sud- 
denly out of the mist, and moved eastward into it again. 

“ If I could but be on there ! ” thought Susan, “ sail- 


135 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 
ing off into the distance, leaving everything behind me ! ” 
She let her thoughts run on for a minute like a child. 
“ I’d have a rug and a little hard pillow on deck, and 
sleep under the stars, and sail and sail for days, for 
weeks, and hear the sails creaking above, and the wind 
on my face, till I got away from everything I knew or 
remembered, and saw wine-colored seas, and learned the 
meaning of life, and came to a new place with myself all 
different.” She pulled herself together with a start, and 
turned in the direction of Miss Mitford’s house, passing 
by the edge of a great field of turnips, along by an 
orchard wall, and then across another field, getting out 
at last on the road beside the avenue gate. It was a low 
old house, with a charming roof of red tiles, and a trim 
garden, with wide walks covered with white gravel made 
of crushed shells. Often as a child Susan had spent a 
day or two there, and loved the garden, where in June 
there were bushes covered with very beautiful dark-red 
roses. The spring flowers only were pushing up their 
leaves just now. 

Miss Mitford was an old lady “ with means,” as her 
neighbors said, and a tender heart. She never saw a 
beggar without giving him a coin, yet her mind was so 
influenced by popular opinion that she never gave the 
coin without saying apologetically, “ People nowadays 
say we ought never to give to beggars.” Born in a gen- 
eration that had a high standard of marriage, she had a 
way of looking up to all married people, and of allud- 
ing to herself as a spinster with something of apology 
also, “ Old maids like myself,” 46 A person of no im- 


136 THE ROSE OF JOY 

portance like myself,” and so on. She would say of her 
nieces, “ They don’t come here much, but you know 
young married women have so much to occupy them.” 

Susan, who had not seen the old lady for some time, 
was shown into a drawing room with a great deal of 
china in it and no fire. She went and stood by the window 
that looked into the prim garden, where the leaves of 
early hyacinths were coming up green around the sundial. 
The door opened behind her, and Miss Mitford entered 
with outstretched hands. 

“ How kind of you to come, my dear — to spare time 
from all your interesting preparations to come to see 
me!” 

Placing Susan on a shiny chintz sofa, that communi- 
cated a chill to the person who sat down on it, Miss Mit- 
ford took a low chair beside the girl, her face working 
with sympathetic feeling. 

“ You must be very busy this week,” she said. 

“ Yes,” Susan answered, “ we are. It is rather dread- 
ful.” 

She remembered all the fuss and muddle of home, and 
looked around Miss Mitford’s parlor: its chilly quiet; 
the glittering, spotless, immovable ornaments ; the blinds 
drawn half-way down ; the inviolable, sacred propriety, 
the middle-class piety of it ; its suggestions of a life long 
since sunk into a settled channel and untouched by 
change. And what a new, overpowering torrent of 
change was coming to her life ! Miss Mitford suddenly 
acquired a new value, a new interest in her eyes. Miss 
Mitford was unmarried. She had lived to be sixty and 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 137 
was still free ; her life had never been broken into in this 
way. Susan’s head throbbed, and her ears hummed, she 
looked wildly about her. The old lady went on speaking. 

“ A marriage ! ” she said sweetly. 44 I’m always in- 
terested in a marriage when there is true affection on both 
sides. I have always tried to prevent my lonely life shut- 
ting me out from wider interests.” She paused. 

A shaft of envy shot through the bride. 64 Her lonely 
life ! Heavens ! what should any woman want more than 
she has got — a home, a quiet life of her own where she 
can read Shakespeare and worship God in peace and 
freedom? ” To her Miss Mitford’s cold parlor took on 
an almost sacred air ; so might some unhappy woman in 
ancient Rome have lingered to gaze in self-pity and 
longing at the vestal virgins’ white-pillared porch. 

44 I have so little to do with young people now,” Miss 
Mitford continued, 44 I’m sometimes afraid that I get 
out of sympathy with romance.” 

44 Romance,” echoed Susan blankly. 

44 Yes, we old maids must not lose touch with young 
people altogether.” 

44 You have your nieces,” said Susan. 

44 Ah, yes, I have! That was Laura, dear Laura, in 
her wedding dress.” She handed it to Susan, who gazed 
at it with fevered interest. This then was how some other 
girl looked when just on the brink of the precipice. 

44 Was this taken before or after her marriage, Miss 
Mitford? ” she asked. 

44 Oh, after; on her way home,” said the old lady. 

Susan could discover nothing in the face except an 


138 THE ROSE OF JOY 

evident wish to keep hand and head in the right posi- 
tion. The downcast eye seemed to count the folds in the 
white satin train. She gave it back to Miss Mitford, and 
told her errand. 

Miss Mitford was delighted. She had an old affec- 
tion of an uncritical kind for Mrs. Crawford, and quite 
understood that it might be difficult for her to receive 
her husband’s relatives. She also saw her own old china 
(the Crown Derby) in use and admired, and felt herself 
entirely equal to entertaining old Miss Crawford and 
“ any number of Mrs. O’Briens,” as she afterwards said 
to a neighbor. 

Susan thanked her, kissed her tenderly, and said that 
she must go, or it would be dark before she got home. 

“ And I hear that Mr. Stair is always amusing,” said 
Miss Mitford, following her to the door. “ His poor 
father was a most charming man in my youth.” She 
pressed Susan’s hand. “ Good-by, Susan Crawford; I 
will remember you in my prayers. I always ask for a 
special blessing on a bride.” 


CHAPTER XX 


(•(• SPECIAL blessing on a bride.” The 

words rang in Susan’s ears as she began 
to walk home. Thick, gentle rain was 
falling now, and her feet got clogged with the heavy 
clay on the footpath. She scrambled and half fell in try- 
ing to jump across a ditch in the field. Coming to a thorn 
hedge, her dress caught and tore into a great rent. Yet 
she went too quickly. Home would be reached too soon. 
Home, and all the dreadful bustle that was dragging 
her on, hour by hour, towards Thursday. She must get 
alone and think, so, instead of taking the usual road, she 
turned aside by the wall of the great orchard garden. 

A little track led down to the gate of the orchard. The 
rain beat against her face, but Susan was oblivious of her 
surroundings. She sat down on an upturned cart at the 
angle of the wall, screened in a measure from the falling 
rain. The long ridges of the newly planted field 
stretched out before her. Beyond that, thick wreaths of 
floating mist covered the sea: it sounded like a hoarse 
voice in the far distance. There was no color except the 
gray sky and the wet brown earth ; no sound except the 
drip of the rain, the calling sea, and the flutter of her 
own excited breathing. 

“ Oh, how happy Miss Mitford is ! How I envied her ! 
If I could only awake and find this all a dream. How 
139 


140 THE ROSE OF JOY 

could anyone ever get married? Why did I ever promise 

to do it ? ” 

Suddenly she heard a man’s footstep coming tramping 
down the wet pathway behind her. Susan rose to her 
feet and pulled her hat low across her eyes, hoping that 
it might be no one she knew, but as the man came nearer 
she saw that it was Archie Hamilton. He carried a gun 
on his shoulder, and was wet and splashed with mud. 
When he stopped, astonished to see her there, Susan 
noticed how the neck feathers of one of the dead birds in 
his hand gleamed, the single point of brilliant green in 
the gray landscape. 

Susan greeted him timidly. 44 Darnley told me that 
you were at Rexhill just now,” she said. 

Archie looked down at her with a good deal of interest. 
She had changed very much since he had seen her before. 
This, then, was Darnley’s bride, who was to be married 
on Thursday. Susan had been almost a child when he 
saw her a year ago. She was almost a woman now, he 
thought. The 44 almost ” was qualifying as he looked at 
her innocent, distressed face. A quick colpr had mounted 
to her cheeks. He thought again, as he had done before, 
that she reminded him of something — something contra- 
dictory. 44 A Virgin, painted by a Dutchman,” he 
thought, unconsciously echoing an opinion of Colonel 
Hamilton’s. 

44 1 had a note from Darnley yesterday,” he said; 
44 there seems to have been some misfortune about his ar- 
rangements. He has asked me to take Graham’s place on 
Thursday.” 


141 


CHAPTER TWENTY 
Yes, he told me so,” said Susan. She did not say 
that she was pleased. Her eyes were fixed on the 
ground. 

“ I’m afraid I’ll do it very badly, not having the deb- 
onair manner that suits the occasion,” he continued. 
He looked down at the 44 poor little girl,” as he mentally 
called her, standing in the rain, with that look of child- 
ish distress, and wondered what she felt. 

44 Isn’t it very wet for you to be out? ” he said. 44 Are 
you going home? May I walk back with you? It is 
getting late.” 

44 No, no, thank you. Please, I’d rather not. I mean 
it is not dark, and I know the way very well.” 

44 If you would really rather go alone, I shall go this 
way.” 

He bade her good-night, whistled for his dog, and 
went off in the other direction. Susan walked slowly 
along the damp path through the long orchard. The 
wind had fallen and the rain ceased. Reaching the gate 
at the far end she found that it was locked, and had to 
retrace her steps the whole way, very tired and overcome 
with a sense of hopeless depression. She looked about 
her and could see no one. The gathering twilight seemed 
to make a soft protecting veil for her. She felt as if she 
would have liked to stay there in the dusk for hours, but 
knew that already it was late, and that her mother would 
be anxious about her. To her consternation she found 
that the second gate was locked also; the farmer must 
have fastened it when she was at the other end of the 
orchard and gone away. She shook the door and looked 


142 THE ROSE OF JOY 

about to see if she could climb the wall. It was high and 
smooth, and that was impossible ; so she looked about for 
some shelter, and settled herself on an upturned hamper 
leaning against the door, to listen for the chance of some- 
one passing by. For a long time there was not a sound. 
Susan began to wonder if she would need to sit there all 
night. She thought of her mother’s futile agitation, and 
of how the whole household would be annoyed. For her- 
self she did not much care. At least she was quiet and 
alone. By the glimmering light that still remained in 
the sky she could see the long, straight walk that led 
down the middle of the orchard, bordered on each side 
by dense shadow. Occasionally a bird uttered a single 
note from amongst the wet bushes, or some queer little 
noise about the ground spoke of small creatures moving 
there. Then there came over the girl once more, as she 
thought of the day before her, an agony of indecision 
that cannot be described in words. True, it was still 
possible for her to have drawn back even then, but only 
absolute loathing or the desperation of extreme misery 
could stir one up to that, she knew. She tried once again 
hopelessly to tell herself that she loved Dally, and it 
would be all right when they were maried. Everyone, 
she supposed, felt like that. . . . Then above her, in 

one of the wet trees, where as yet the blossom was invis- 
ible, and the young leaves only half unfurled, a thrush 
sang loudly out into the cold, quiet evening sky. 

Susan sat up straight and listened. She seemed to be 
on the verge of discovering something quite unknown to 
her before. But the song stopped abruptly as a footstep 


CHAPTER TWENTY 143 

was heard beside the wall. Susan thumped on the door 
and cried out. 

“ Is it you, Miss Crawford? ” called a voice that she 
recognized as Archie Hamilton’s. 44 They have locked 
you in, I see. Can you wait for a few minutes? I will 
go back to the farm and get the key.” She heard him 
walk off' quickly. 

44 Oh, if it had been anyone else ! ” said Susan to her- 
self ; she could hardly have said why. She was conscious 
now of being wet through, cold, and miserable, and of 
the lateness of the hour. Yet it seemed a long time until 
he came back, and she heard the key turn, creaking, in 
the rusty lock. 

She looked a piteous little figure, cold and pinched, 
her dress soaked with the clinging fog, as she stepped 
through the doorway. 

44 Ah, you are cold — how cold ! ” said Archie, touch- 
ing her sleeve. 44 And quite wet. See, have my coat ; 
it will warm you a bit. Can you walk home? ” 

Susan was shivering with cold and misery. He took 
off his coat and insisted that she should put it on. The 
long sleeves fell over her hands ; it reached nearly to her 
heels ; it was warm, and a sudden comfort ran softly up 
her chilled body. 

44 1 will wear it for a few minutes until I get warm,” 
she said. He stood leaning against the wall, with his 
arms folded, looking at her curiously. 

44 Are you able to walk home ? ” 

44 Yes, yes; of course I am. I am only tired and 
cold.” Her eyes fell under his look, and her voice 


144 THE ROSE OF JOY 

trembled. They walked side by side for a few minutes 
in silence, and then Susan made him take back the coat. 
She could go home alone, she repeated, but he quietly 
continued to walk by her side. 

He began presently, without preliminary, 44 Darnley 
and I have alwaj^s quarreled ever since we were boys. I 
think I envied him. He was always able to make ” 
(with an irrepressible pause he added) 46 strangers like 
him ; he is so unself-conscious.” 

64 Oh, yes, he is,” said Susan, with eager assent. 

44 tie has the kind of tact that is spontaneous,” Archie 
went on. 

Susan looked up at him suddenly. 44 I wish you 
would not come on Thursday,” she said, her voice shak- 
ing. 44 1 know that you do not like him ; he and you 
do not get on. One should not act friendship that they 
do not feel.” 

44 No.” Archie looked steadily ahead. Susan saw or 
fancied that his tone was disagreeable. 44 Let love be 
without dissimulation, I suppose; but having promised, 
I must keep my word, if Miss Crawford will tolerate my 
presence.” 

Susan was silent for a moment. Then she said, 44 1 
ought to ask your pardon ; I think I said more than I 
meant to. I am tired and worried ” — her voice sank 
almost to a whisper — 44 and afraid.” 

He said nothing for a minute longer, then began: 
44 We always feel a shrinking from any great change in 
life.” He spoke as if he were discussing something quite 
impersonal. Susan breathed freely again; he seemed 


CHAPTER TWENTY 145 

scarcely to have understood the rash impulse that had 
prompted her speech. “ I remember feeling very un- 
comfortably afraid before I first went to school. It’s 
all not quite knowing what is before you. My mother 
has so much courage that she is very tolerant. When 
I was a little boy I used to be very much frightened at 
night, and so she always made me go to sleep in the dark, 
but she made me understand that when I wakened I was 
at home with her.” 

They had reached the top of the long hill. Susan 
saw Mrs. Crawford standing at the gate, and divined 
that she was looking to see if she were in sight. She 
turned to Mr. Hamilton: 

“ I see my mother come out to look for me. She won’t 
understand why I am so late. You must not come 
farther out of your way now. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night, Miss Crawford ; I shall see you on 
Thursday.” 

“ Yes, Thursday,” said Susan, with a dizzy sense of 
the look of utter compassion that softened all the severe 
lines of his face for a moment as he looked down at 
her. It was almost as if she heard him say, “ Poor 
child ! ” 

She turned hastily away to meet her mother. 

“ Oh, Susan ! ” wailed Mrs. Crawford, “ where have 
you been? I got so anxious. Supper is quite cold, and 
there was soup. I couldn’t think what had happened to 
you ; there seems something so odd in your being out late. 
And who was that ? ” 

“ It was Mr. Hamilton, mother. You saw him before. 


146 THE ROSE OF JOY 

Dally has asked him to take Mr. Graham’s place on 

Thursday.” 

44 Yes, so you told me. I was so flurried I had for- 
gotten; but isn’t there something odd in your speaking 
to your best man on a wet night ? ” 

Susan laughed, in spite of her depression. 44 Why, 
mother? And why a wet night? ” She went on to ex- 
plain how she had been delayed, and why Mr. Hamilton 
had come back with her, as they walked up the path 
to the house. Mrs. Crawford was still flurried. 

44 I’m very thankful that Miss Mitford will take your 
Aunt Crawford and Mrs. O’Brien,” she said. 46 Your 
father used always to say that Irish people were indiffer- 
ent to their food, but I can’t say I saw any signs of that 
in them — they were both so fat — except that they left 
nearly the half of everything on their plates. I remem- 
ber cook cried afterwards.” 

Susan escaped to her own room, now piled with dress- 
maker’s boxes and new trunks. 

She came down to a tepid supper with as great an in- 
difference as Mrs. O’Brien could have displayed. The 
children clamored about her wedding presents, and Mrs. 
Crawford made solemn observations about the prospect 
of rain upon Thursday. 


CHAPTER XXI 

T HE night before the wedding Colonel Hamil- 
ton and Juliet came to Burrie Bush and put 
up at the inn. Juliet said she would go along 
to the Crawfords’ and ask if she could be of any use to 
Susan. Emmy, who had seen her approach, rushed to 
meet her at the door. 

“ We’ve got pounds of rice,” she said; “and I have 
two white shoes. And the Irish aunts are in the drawing 
room now.” 

“Are they, indeed?” said Juliet, smiling. “And 
where is Susan ? ” 

Susan came out into the hall at that moment. She 
wore an old gray dress. Her eyes seemed unnaturally 
bright. 

“ You see I’ve come in good time,” said Juliet ; “ and 
can I do anything for you? No, I’m not going in 
amongst the Irish aunts ! ” 

“ Come into the schoolroom,” said Susan, opening the 
door. 

It had been their father’s library, then had been used 
for years as a schoolroom. Some dusty foreign weapons 
still hung high on the walls. Battered schoolbooks 
filled the bookcases. There were almost obliterated 
Indian photographs in tarnished frames hung about the 
room, and a great school map. 

147 


148 THE ROSE OF JOY 

On the table — a wooden table hacked by the boys’ pen- 
knives and heavily spotted with ink — stood the wedding- 
cake covered with its muslin shroud. Some orange 
blossom sent by Miss Mitford added its scent to the heavy 
smell of the cake. 

“ How suggestive! ” Juliet exclaimed, pushing up the 
veil from her little traveling hat and looking about her, 
smiling. Then when Emmy had left them she sat down 
by Susan and laid her hand on her knee. 44 I want you 
to tell me now exactly everything that I can do to-night 
or to-morrow. Now begin,” she said. 

44 I don’t know that there is anything,” Susan 
began. 

Juliet took quick note of her face. 44 Oh, yes! there 
is, I know; and you are too tired to think almost. I’d 
like to, dear Susan. Do let me ; you’ll never be married 
again — I hope.” 

Susan looked at her steadily without a smile. She put 
up one hand to her head with a slight worried motion. 

44 I have had so much to do and to think of, and I 
am not good at that kind of thing,” she said, looking so 
very childish that Juliet’s heart was sore. 

44 Well, I am, I think. Do, dearest, try to recollect 
everything, and tell me. Your own dress? ” 

Susan laughed a little. 44 Oh, that’s right enough, I 
think. The dressmaker came and tried it on this morn- 
ing. She’s coming to put it on to-morrow.” 

44 What dressmaker ? ” 

44 The one from St. Fortunes, Miss Minks ; she 
made it.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 149 

44 Oh ! She 4 makes ’ for all the farmers’ wives, I sup- 
pose? ” said Juliet softly. 

Susan laughed again. Juliet’s society was beginning 
to do her good already. 

44 Yes, I suppose she does. You can come and see it 
on to-morrow. You will think it dreadful, no doubt; 
but it’s white, and it doesn’t matter.” 

44 Doesn’t matter? Well, go on.” 

44 Emmy will require a little dressing.” 

44 Yes, yes ! I’ll do that.” 

44 And mother ” said Susan doubtfully. 

44 I’ll send Parker to her.” 

44 No, please. I think that Aunt Murchison is coming 
early, and she will do that,” said Susan. 44 The boys will 
need ” — again she brightened and laughed — 44 need to 
be brushed, probably.” 

44 Oh, I’ll do that — and tie their neckties, too,” said 
Juliet. 

44 There are the Irish aunts.” 

44 1 will undertake the whole charge of them,” said 
Juliet, with the air of a solemn vow. She looked at 
Susan. 44 Why,” she said, 44 you look as if you thought 
no one had ever been married before or would ever be 
married again. We’ll all have to do it! ” 

44 Wouldn’t you feel like that? ” 

44 Not if I could help it! Not if it was most peo- 
ple ” Juliet caught herself up suddenly. 

Susan did not look at her. She said, 44 Dally is very 
reassuring. Things seem all right when he is there.” 

44 Yes. He’s very sympathetic,” said Juliet. She 


150 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
rose and took Susan’s hand. 44 Come, now, and show 
me your mother before I go.” 

Mentally she was asking herself in a bewildered way 
how Dally would behave on the morrow. 

She was all smiles to Mrs. Crawford and the Irish 
aunts, and sat talking with them for quite a long time 
before she left. 

44 The old lady is quite easy,” she said to Susan at 
the door. 44 It’s the Mrs. O’Brien one that will be a little 
difficult. Keep her near the Stairs,” she added. 

Susan walked down to the gate with her in the twi- 
light. 44 You make me feel supported, Juliet. Thank 
you,” she said. 

Juliet walked slowly along the road to the inn. She 
was thinking so deeply that she did not notice her uncle 
and Archie Hamilton, who were standing together at the 
door. When they spoke to her she looked up in sur- 
prise. 44 Oh, Archie, you’ve come after all ! I thought 
they would keep you at Rexhill to-night,” she said to 
the young man. 

44 1 believe I have to go to meet Darnley early to-mor- 
row, to escort him, so I thought it as well to be on the 
spot. Have you been to see Miss Crawford? ” he in- 
quired. 

44 Yes, of course I have. I’m going to be very busy 
to-morrow. There will be a great deal to do,” said 
Juliet. 44 Mrs. Crawford seems a helpless sort of per- 
son.” 

44 Vague and gelatinous. I saw her when I came with 
Uncle Maurice, last year. You remember, sir? ” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 151 

Colonel Hamilton sighed. “ Oh, dear, yes ! Of course 
I remember. And to think that Susan is now going to 
marry Dally Stair.” 

“ I believe she is very fond of Dally,” said Juliet, in 
her cooing voice. She stood with her hands behind her 
back, thoughtful, marking little prints in the dust with 
the point of her shoe. Then she added, still more softly, 
“ And he of her.” 

Archie laughed. “ You are not — voracious — Juliet,” 
he said, bringing out the last words with the slow dis- 
tinctness of utterance that often ended his sentences. 

Juliet looked grieved. 

“ Oh, Archie ! you say such unpleasant things.” 

“ I mean that kindly.” 

“ Well, it did not sound kind. Of course I was only 
too glad that Dally should like anyone else ; he was often 
a great trouble to me,” she added sweetly. 

“No doubt he’ll appear suitably ardent on this occa- 
sion,” Archie went on. “ He’s probably composing his 
own Epithalamium at this moment on sheets of the brew- 
ery paper — blotting paper, likely. That’s more like 
him.” 

“ He wrote some rather thrilling verses, long ago, I 
remember,” said Juliet, looking down. 

“ Oh, he’s a style of his own, with lapses,” said Archie. 
“ Once, I remember, he had been staying with us. I 
found some lines — yes, it was on the blotting paper of 
my desk. I could not avoid seeing the first two — 

“ ‘And never again will I dare to complain. 

For I lay where her beautiful body had lain f 


152 THE ROSE OF JOY 

or words to that effect. He told me he had passed two 
sleepless nights in a room which, I suppose, had been 
occupied before his arrival by some reigning goddess.” 

44 One of your little dark rooms? ” said Juliet. 44 But 
wasn’t it rather sweet of him to think of it? ” She 
rubbed her hand hastily across her cheek. 44 Let us 
bring Uncle Maurice back now, and give him something 
to eat,” she said. 

Colonel Hamilton had strolled away while they stood 
talking at the door. It was a serene evening. The old 
sign hanging above them creaked slightly with the 
breeze. The village street was perfectly empty; only 
a very old, bowed man crept along it, tapping the flag- 
stones at the doors with his stick. Above the gate of 
the Crawfords’ house the children had erected a small 
arch of greenery, already nearly wilted. The birds sang 
loudly from the orchard. In the inn kitchen just behind 
them, through the open window, came the voice of Parker 
in subdued contention with Mrs. Reid. 

“ This is very agreeable,” said Juliet, 44 and if I am 
ever married I shall go and stay at some dreadful, lonely, 
stuffy little inn like this.” 

She looked very happy and incredibly sweet. Archie 
considered her in silence, then they strolled off after 
Colonel Hamilton. 

44 1 hope Susan will look pretty to-morrow,” said 
Juliet. 44 She really is pretty sometimes — at least, you 
know what I mean.” 

44 Oh, yes, I know exactly what you mean ! Poor little 
girl!” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 153 

“ Oh, there are worse people in the world than Dally,” 
said Juliet. 

44 He is not malicious, and he thinks himself sincere.” 

44 He always feels what he says.” 

44 And always says what he feels,” said Archie. 

44 Oh, but he believes it ! ” 

44 The chameleon, I’ve read, is really blue — until he 
becomes green, you know.” 

44 You are very hard in your judgments, Archie, and 
I should not like you to be my judge, in my own hear- 
ing,” said the girl, in her soft, reproachful way. 

The young man hung his head, his deeply cut features 
softened with sudden humility. 44 I am,” he answered. 
44 It’s quite true, Juliet. No doubt some day I’ll be 
judged accordingly, but,” raising his head irrepressibly 
again, 44 all the same, Dally is a fool, you know.” 

They spent a very cheerful evening in the mothy inn 
parlor beside the stuffed hawk. Colonel Hamilton re- 
membered his former mood of mind once more, as he 
saw it for the third time. He remembered, too, how he 
had first seen Susan step in at the door in the shining 
of the two candles, holding the little sister by the hand, 
and looking about her in her innocent fashion; and, 
thinking of the union he was to witness on the morrow, 
he strongly denied the time-honored aphorism about 
marriages made in heaven. 

Susan, meanwhile, had listened to her mother’s buzzing 
the whole evening and endeavored to arrange everything 
as well as she could until she was entirely worn out. 
There came to her late in the evening a little note from 


154 THE ROSE OF JOY 

Dally. With a sinking heart and the listlessness of ex- 
treme fatigue she looked into it, expecting some final 
detail that had been forgotten. But that was not Daily’s 
vein at all; he wrote about no business. It contained 
only a few lines in his big, scrawly handwriting, but 
when Susan had read it twice she got up and kissed her 
mother and said good-night with the color returned to 
her face, and the bright young look come back into her 
eyes. She carried the letter upstairs with her and put 
it away ; she kept it all her life. 

In the middle of that night Susan awoke with a start. 
Little Emily lay beside her sound asleep after the excite- 
ment of the day, her long black hair flowed on Susan’s 
breast, her thin little arm was round her; the room was 
almost dark. Susan sat up and looked wildly about her. 
She could see through the window a bit of clear sky 
between the apple boughs, where hung and burned one 
brilliant star. It was like a bright, piercing eye that 
could read into her heart. 

“ Oh, Emmy — Emmy, darling! ” she whispered, hug- 
ging the child with a passion of sobs that awoke her. 

“ What’s the matter, Susan ? Have you had a bad 
dream? ” asked Emmy, putting her own simple construc- 
tion on her sister’s agitation. 

Susan had controlled herself in a moment. “ Yes, 
darling, yes; I’m sorry that I awakened you. Go to 
sleep again,” she said, aware once more of the weary, 
uncommunicable distance between herself and Emmy. 
The child turned over and slept again, but Susan lay 
awake till dawn. 


CHAPTER XXII 


** ^ USAN, the porridge is so singed we can’t eat 

^^^it, but mother says we may have a custard,” 
^ * the children exclaimed, when Susan entered 
the dining room the next morning. There were indeed 
acrid fumes of burnt porridge mingling in the lobbies 
with the smell of wedding cake and the heavy scent of 
flowers. Mrs. Crawford, tremulous, was crumbling 
bread upon her plate, saying she was too flurried to eat 
any breakfast. The children, hurriedly dressed by the 
excited little maid, and completely demoralized by the 
license of the past few days, crowded their chairs to- 
gether and snatched at the bread and butter, all talking 
at the same moment. 

The homely squatter of the breakfast -table and the 
disaster to the porridge roused Susan to the everyday 
world in a moment. She quieted the little ones, coaxed 
Mrs. Crawford to eat, and promised some fruit, instead 
of the custard, to every child that had neatly eaten a 
small helping of the singed porridge. 

The meal was nearly at an end when Juliet Hamilton 
came in, blooming and smiling, and so full of a soft, 
practical energy that Susan blessed her from her heart. 

The Crawford household at that moment certainly 
presented a task that required the exercise of come deli- 
cate practicality. But Juliet, beauty though she was, 
155 


156 THE ROSE OF JOY 

had the sort of worldly wisdom and quickness that often 
makes such a person far more valuable than the saint or 
the intellectual woman. She quickly reviewed the house- 
hold. She even penetrated — forever after a bright 
vision to the little domestic — into the dark and disorderly 
kitchen, where Mrs. Crawford’s slipshod cook was sul- 
lenly watching the preparations that Mrs. Murchison’s 
cook, sent up for the occasion, was carrying on in her 
own domain. 

The first thing was to get the sitting rooms put into 
order. Mrs. Murchison arrived richly dressed, and in a 
state of rather grim composure, bringing more maidserv- 
ants and more flowers and food. Then the dressmaker 
came to put on Susan’s dress. During this odd moment, 
before being called to give her opinion, Juliet managed 
to dress Emily and do her hair. She then summoned the 
boys for inspection ; tied their neckties, brushed them all, 
warned them sternly away from the hen-house and the 
rabbits, ran back to Susan’s room to give some final ad- 
vice, glanced at the luncheon laid in the dining room, 
found Mrs. Crawford’s eye-glasses and returned them to 
her; finally swept again into the nursery to look at the 
children and tell Jemima to keep them shut up till the 
last moment, then ran, laughing, back to the inn to put 
on her own wedding garment and be back at the house 
just in time to receive the Irish aunts, who, with the 
rights of relationship, had chosen to arrive half an hour 
too soon. 

A wedding in a drawing room was quite a common 
occurrence in those regions at that time. Indeed, there 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 157 
was no church suitable for the purpose near at hand. 
Although the guests were very few, the room was uncom- 
fortably crammed before half of the thirty or so invited 
had got in. 

Juliet left her post for a moment when she heard the 
bridegroom’s carriage arrive, and ran into the hall to 
meet him. Dally, very white in the face, and notably 
red in the hair, was coming in at the door, followed by 
Archie Hamilton, who looked severely handsome. 

44 You’re quite in time. Yes, go in there. Would you 
like a glass of champagne before you go in, Dally? ” 
she asked in sympathy. Dally was not too forlorn to 
be roused. 

44 Champagne ! In this house ! ” He gulped, and 
stared horribly. 

44 Well, there a re bottles of something like it in the 
dining room,” said Juliet. 

44 Gooseberry vinegar ! ” gasped Dally. He stood at 
the drawing-room door holding her hand, his face quiv- 
ering. 

44 Go in, Darnley ; go in, you donkey ! ” whispered 
Archie Hamilton. And Darnley pulled himself together 
sufficiently to make a very graceful entrance into the 
crowded little room. 

Juliet ran upstairs to tell Susan to come down as soon 
as she could, but she found when she came back that her 
pieces had changed places, so to speak. The Irish Mrs. 
Crawford stood silent and critical between two of the 
boys, whilst Mr. Murchison, with an air of feeling his 
frock-coat uncomfortably tight, was largely making con- 


158 THE ROSE OF JOY 

versation to Mrs. O’Brien. The two Stair women, thin 
and rather tremulous, kept close to Colonel Hamilton. 
Mrs. Bracebridge, with her skirts very much spread, and 
a stony expression of being determined to do her duty, 
stood listening to Miss Mitford and another neighbor 
who were praising Susan. 

Rice (curiously enough at this stage) seemed every- 
where — grinding under the bridegroom’s heel, causing 
Susan nearly to slip at the door as it was thrown open 
and she came in along with her mother. 

A little, white, shabby bride in a local dress, and hold- 
ing her white bouquet as if for dear life in her shaking 
hands. She stood in the doorway for a moment, and the 
hum of voices died suddenly away. Her face was so pale 
that her hair against it looked almost black, her eyes 
very blue. Her lips trembled, and she looked round ap- 
pealingly till she caught sight of Darnley standing with 
Archie Hamilton at the end of the room. Then her eyes 
gave a sort of flicker and flutter, and a little color came 
into her face, and she moved up to the table that did duty 
for an altar. Just above it hung the portrait of her 
father. The arch, yet pensive eyes of the young face 
seemed to look down upon the little human comedy being 
enacted below. 

The minister began to pray. The women’s dresses 
seemed to rustle disproportionately. A Crawford child 
placed a hot hand in Juliet’s, and she heard a whisper 
of “ It’s my pocket — a hole — the rice has all run 
out.” 

Then someone began to sing the usual paraphrase : 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 159 

“ O God of Bethel , by whose hand ” 

It went on, the company not fully joining until nearly 
the last lines: 

“Through each perplexing path of life 
Our wandering footsteps guide. . . .” 

Then a mumble from the minister. 

“ I do,” said Darnley Stair, very hastily emphatic. 
Susan’s reply was scarcely heard. Then another prayer ; 
a pause; more rustling; a sudden outburst of hand- 
shaking and kissing. 

“ For Heaven’s sake, Juliet, don’t let Mrs. Crawford 
kiss me ! ” whispered Dally, ducking behind his mother- 
in-law, to stand on Susan’s other side. 

The guests began to pour into the dining room, and 
Susan went away to change her dress. 

There was considerable relief in the luncheon room, 
for Mrs. Murchison had provided almost all the food, 
and Juliet heard her whisper to Miss Mitford, “ My cook 
was here till ten o’clock last night.” Unfortunately, 
however, Mrs. Crawford’s cook had placed the jellies 
in a hot cupboard, and they were merely glutinous ; and 
Mrs. Crawford had ordered the cream, which was sour. 
As soon as the room was quite full there ensued a good 
deal of noise, for three hens, lured by tracks of rice 
across the lawn, had entered by the open window when 
the room was empty, and were pecketing under the 
table. Terrified by the people and the noise of voices, 
they now flew screeching and flapping across the table, 


160 THE ROSE OF JOY 

amongst the guests, and into the farthest corners of the 
room ; a dish of custard was spattered profusely over 
Mrs. O’Brien’s dress; two glasses fell in fragments; and 
the last hen was only captured underneath a chair, with 
hideous screams. It seemed to restore Daily’s equanim- 
ity, or perhaps he had discovered that Mr. Murchison 
had supplied the champagne, for he got down on his 
knees to sop the custard from Mrs. O’Brien’s silk frills 
with a table-napkin, in a manner that fascinated her. 
Indeed, she ever afterwards spoke of him with tolerance. 

“ Hens rush in where angels fear to tread, you see,” 
he remarked quite blithely. 

The eating only lasted only a very short time. Susan 
came down in a brown dress and an unnoticeable little hat. 
She was still trembling, and she had been crying, but she 
smiled like the April da}^ as she hugged the children for 
the last time, and ran down to the carriage with Dally 
behind her. 

Everyone had crowded to the door. Emily, in her 
first long skirt, resolved to be very grown up, stood farth- 
est out on the door-step, choking her dignified sorrow. 

“ She’ll come back again, little woman,” said the best 
man, laying his hand on her shoulder. At this, from the 
person she so wanted to impress, Emmy’s fortitude gave 
way, and, changing her note to an open, childish howl, 
she buried her face in her new handkerchief, and fled 
sobbing into the recesses of the garden. All the guests 
said good-by, and got themselves away. The Hamil- 
tons departed a little later — they were driving back to 
Linfield. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 161 

“ What a dismal little scene it was, to be sure,” said 
Juliet, sinking back beside her uncle. 

64 Well, we’ve seen the beginning,” he replied. 

Susan sat up in the carriage that drove her away, look- 
ing about her with wide, tear-filled eyes. She saw dimly 
the little doocot at the garden wall. She saw Mrs. Reid 
standing, portly, by the inn door, waving a handker- 
chief with all her might. The old sign-board, with the 
Saracen emblems, shone in the sun. She drove along the 
street, every yard of which held a hundred memories of 
childhood for her. Then, when they were out of the 
little village, she sat back again with a sigh, and gave 
her hand to her husband, saying, 44 Oh, Damley, I wish 
I was a little girl again. I have been so happy. I think 
I am afraid.” 

64 Ugh ! ” said Darnley, 44 I’m not an ogre, child, 
though my hair is red. You’ve the sweetest eyes in the 
world, Susan ; but that is a direful hat ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


D ALLY and his bride had gone to the South of 
England. Susan had never been in Cornwall 
before, and there she saw places that attracted 
her imagination very strongly. She and Dally found 
infinite entertainment together for the first few weeks 
after their marriage, for, after all, without being in love 
with him, a dull man is just a dull man, and a man who 
is good company is an agreeable companion, whether you 
love him or not. Daily’s worst enemies never accused 
him of being dull. Idleness did not bore him; in fact he 
was seldom idle, for always, like the Athenians, he went 
about for to see or to hear some new thing. 

Susan had as much time to draw as she pleased; her 
little sketchbooks were filled from cover to cover. Dally 
laughed at the way that she forgot everything else, but 
he had a devout respect for the arts he could not practice, 
and Susan found him very sympathetic. The change to 
her was very great, from being with a number of other 
people, all demanding constant attention of one kind or 
another, to the society of one young man ^ho just then 
had nothing to do but wait upon her. She felt as if she 
must be in some way very selfish, to give up hours to the 
work she liked without interruption, to be able to read, 
or go out, or sit still, just as she wished, instead of at- 
tending to the children, replying to her mother’s con- 

162 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 163 
stant, aimless questions, or doing errands about St. For- 
tunes for her aunt. 

Dally had agreed, not without a little demur, that 
they should go for two days to stay with Lady Agnes 
Hamilton before returning to Scotland. Susan wanted 
to go so much that he consented. 

“ It’s never a pleasure to me to go there, Sue,” he said, 
“ but you seem to like them, so I’ll go — and be despised.” 

The very morning that they meant to go Dally had a 
letter from Mr. Murchison, hinting that affairs at the 
brewery would make it desirable for him to return very 
soon. Dally gave the letter to Susan, and watched her 
read it. 

“ I think that we must go back to-morrow,” she 
said. 

“ Oh,” said Dally, “ I knew perfectly well that you 
would say that. I’m afraid that I’ve gone and saddled 
myself with a sort of perpetual harassing conscience in 
you, Susan, that will run off like an alarm clock just 
when you least want to hear it.” 

“ You must go,” Susan repeated. “ It’s your busi- 
ness, Dally.” 

“ Yes, unfortunately it is ; we can’t go to Lady Agnes, 
then.” 

“ Oh ! ” Susan looked blank ; it was her turn to be dis- 
appointed. Dally laughed. 

“ Of course we’ll go, child ; two days won’t make any 
difference. We’ll get to Striven next week, and I’ll ride 
over to St. Fortunes the very next day, if you like.” 

Mr. Murchison’s letter spoke of no great hurry, so 


164 THE ROSE OF JOY 

Susan admitted the two days, and they went to the Ham 

iltons’ after all. 

Archie was at home for three days, and Juliet Cle- 
phane was there too. On the afternoon of the day that 
Dally and Susan were coming they stood together on the 
narrow balcony that hung above the river. 

“ It’s to-day that Dally and the little provincial bride 
are to appear, isn’t it? ” said Archie. 

Juliet hung over the railing, and looked into the nar- 
row, deep lane that lay between the house and the river. 

“ I don’t see anyone coming yet. I won’t soon forget 
the miseries of that wedding,” she said, turning round 
to face her cousin again. 

“ Dismal enough,” said Archie. “ That brewess — 
the aunt, I mean — had a smiting w r ay with her. She will 
keep a tight rein on Dally, I should think. They are 
going actually to live in her house.” 

“ Poor Susan ! ” said Juliet. She pulled her hat 
farther down over her eyes, till her face was in shadow, 
all but the pretty, smiling mouth. Archie sat on the rail- 
ing with the sun shining on his brown face, looking at 
her with great contentment. When she was there it seemed 
as if the girl bloomed out, as most people bloom when 
they are happy, into a new loveliness. True, she had a 
great respect and affection for his mother — chiefly re- 
spect, it must be owned — and she tried to make that 
suffice to explain the glamour in which to her fancy the 
place was steeped. Every inconvenience there was but 
an added attraction. What did it matter to her that the 
house was tiny and airless and dark — that even on a 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 165 
summer morning she needed to light a candle to see to 
do her hair? It was all, she thought, delightful. 

If Lady Agnes ever noticed this curious adaptability 
on the part of a girl who was usually given to a good 
deal of self-indulgence, she never said so. Certainly 
Juliet had arrived a fortnight before, when there was no 
prospect of Archie’s return ; but she bloomed and bright- 
ened none the less when he did appear. Susan, too, felt 
the charm of the place when she saw it first. 

“ Oh, how lovely, Dally ! It’s like the psalm,” she 
said, as she and Dally came slowly up the narrow sunlit 
lane by the riverside. 

“ Which psalm ? I don’t quite know,” said he, look- 
ing down with amusement at Susan’s delighted face. 

“ ‘ This is my rest , here still I’ll stay , 

For I do like it well.’ 

“ That’s what I meant. Oh, there’s so much light in 
the wide sky, Dally, and what a dear odd house ! ” she 
cried as they approached it. 

Although the sun was now brilliant and hot, there had 
been rain through the night, and some fog still hung on 
the sea. The jumbled old town on the other side of the 
estuary shone white and romantic in the green woods. 
Through the wooded heights that opened seawards, the 
ships entered from the pale mists behind, timidly, almost 
as if seeking the right way. 

As Susan and Dally came walking up the narrow lane, 
she saw the house, a tiny old cottage with a balcony 
across the front, built hard into the side of the cliff be- 


166 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
hind. It faced the sun and hung like a swallow’s nest 
above the narrow lane. From the balcony in front you 
could have thrown a stone into the water below. All day 
long the river sounds came in at the windows — the plash 
of oars, the pulling of ropes, or the rush of water at the 
prow of a passing boat. As Dally and Susan ap- 
proached, Juliet came running down the steep outside 
stair to meet them. Susan looked very tired and dusty. 
In the warmth of her meeting with Juliet, any slight 
embarrassment on Daily’s part passed unnoticed. He 
was subdued all evening, and made an effort to talk with 
Lady Agnes about brewing, while Susan, in an ecstasy 
of delight, sat by the long window that looked upon the 
river. She could scarcely be beguiled away even to 
eat. 

“ I want to look — to watch, and count them all,” she 
said. 44 Oh, it’s so wonderful, and beautiful, and 
busy ! ” 

“ Dear me, child, you’ve seen ships before,” said 
Dally, laughing. 

“ Yes,” said Susan, 44 gray, weather-beaten sort of 
traveling ships, and business ships, and fishing boats, 
but not these magnificent . . . personages,” she added, 
shy of using the word. 

44 Dally isn’t quite like himself,” Juliet remarked to 
Archie when they were alone together. 

44 Poor Dally ! He feels that he must strike the atti- 
tude of a married man,” said Archie. 44 He’ll have re- 
lapses presently.” 

That evening they sat rather crowded at the narrow 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 167 
table in the small, low-roofed dining room. The three 
windows were open to the river, and sounds came up 
from the boats below. 

Archie Hamilton, looking at Juliet and young Mrs. 
Stair together, remarked to himself how little Juliet’s 
beauty could abstract from the charm of Susan’s face, 
although mere comeliness was all that she could strictly 
claim. She wore this evening a black dress which showed 
her smooth white throat and bosom to advantage, and 
there was always a look of health about her that was an 
attraction in itself ; but the clearness of expression in 
her arch blue-gray eyes gave her face the look of having 
a soft lamp lit inside something almost transparent. 

44 There will be good-fellowship enough be f ~een 
them,” Archie admitted, watching Susan and her hus- 
band together. 

She sat with a slight, indulgent smile as Dally rattled 
on. Already Archie fancied she looked less girlish, had 
more self-assurance of a gentle kind. 

Dally, after an afternoon of self-restraint, abandoned 
the part of a married man early in the evening, and l ung 
around Juliet in a transport of his former adoration. 

44 It’s quite a relief,” said Archie to his mother ; 44 he 
was so like a dog that had been told to sit up straight.” 

Juliet, accustomed to his admiration, scarcely noticed 
anything. But the others could not help observing it, 
and Susan suddenly, for the first time in her life, knew 
what it was to be jealous. She felt that she looked at 
Juliet’s beauty no longer in delight, but comparing it 
with her own. The feeling struck her so suddenly that 


168 THE ROSE OF JOY 

it seemed to hurt her very body; her face dimmed; her 

pleasure departed; she was so much ashamed. 

“ Am I like this ? ” she thought, looking into her own 
heart with positive horror as she sat silent in a corner, 
hoping that no one would notice her face. “ What am I 
doing that I can allow myself to feel like this about 
Juliet, whom I love? She is beautiful to-night. How 
Dally is adoring her, and Mr. Hamilton ! I am quite 
ugly. The world is not just.” 

Lady Agnes came up to the corner where she sat. 
“ This little room is so- hot,” she said. “ Will you come 
out with me? The moon is rising now; it is beautiful on 
the river.” 

Susan stepped out after her on to the balcony. The 
night air was cool and serene, and the moon rose behind 
the wooded hill in a warm, empty sky. They stood in 
silence, looking out. Then Susan very shyly ventured 
to touch Lady Agnes’ hand, as a timid child might have 
done. She was afraid of her own temerity, and felt, 
rather than saw, the way that the older woman turned 
her eyes upon her ; the cool, white hand closed softly over 
hers. 

“ Things are sometimes so difficult,” said Susan. 

46 Always, when we are young,” said Lady Agnes, and 
Susan thought that she smiled. 

“ You were younger than I am when you married, were 
you not ? ” Susan ventured again. 

“ Yes, my dear.” This time she heard an unmistak- 
able sigh. “ But you have a much richer nature than I 
had,” Lady Agnes went on. “ You will find so much to 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 169 
enjoy in life; there is so much beauty in the world.” 
She paused and went on, 44 If other people’s sorrow and 
pain make us suffer, we ought to be able to enjoy their 
joy; one’s own individual portion is generally small.” 
She turned and looked at Susan cheerfully. 44 I hope 
you may have a large share.” 

Susan lifted the smooth hand, and laid it against her 
cheek. The contact with a stronger nature, the unex- 
pressed sympathy, had made her feel quite different. 
She came into the room and smiled to see Darnley hang- 
ing over Juliet’s chair. 

44 Ask Susan to show you her honeymoon sketches,” 
he said to Juliet. Susan protested, but the Hamiltons 
asked her too, and she came back with the drawing books 
and gave them to Dally in her simple way. 

“You see,” said Darnley, 44 she has the happiest 
faculty of being able to eliminate. Not a trace of the 
big, new hotel at Tintagel, you observe. When we were 
living there, she just said she didn’t see it.” 

44 1 did not see it when I saw that,” said Susan gravely, 
looking up at him. 

44 Uncle Maurice says, Darnley, that you have spoilt 
the rarest thing in the world — a woman artist — by mar- 
rying Susan,” said Juliet. 

44 I? Spoilt? Gracious! that is unjust. I want her 
to paint her little things. They interest me intensely; 
I’m awed by them,” said Dally. 44 Am I not, Susan? ” 

44 You don’t show it in the ordinary way,” said Susan, 
smiling at him. 

44 1 hope and trust I haven’t gone and married a 


170 THE ROSE OF JOY 

genius,” Darnley said, with earnestness that was unmis- 
takable. 

They were going back to Scotland the next day. 
Dally declared he would not inform his family of their 
coming. 

44 We are going to take them by surprise,” he said. 
44 They don’t expect us till Monday, but there’s no time 
to write, and a telegram is brusque: besides, my sisters 
become so rigid if they’re given time to expect anyone. 
Susan will see the full beauty of the family type when 
we are all together.” 

44 Won’t you find it dreadful to live at St. Fortunes, 
Susan? ” Juliet asked. 44 Of course people like that 
are very good, and they have all sorts of nice feel- 
ings.” 

44 4 Little parochial moralities,’ as Mr. Hamilton says,” 
said Susan. She spoke the words thoughtfully as if she 
considered them. Archie started and stared at her for a 
moment in surprise. 

44 Did I say that? ” he asked. The words sounded odd 
from her lips. 

44 Yes, you did. Shall you like that, Susan?” said 
Juliet, laughing. 

44 No,” Susan answered, 44 I don’t think I shall. I 
know what you mean, I think, but I do not feel things 
at all in the way that you would do. There are some 
beautiful things about St. Fortunes that are like daily 
bread.” 

44 Beautiful ! ” said Juliet, whose one recollection of 
St. Fortunes was of a miry drive through a curiously 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 171 
narrow street that resounded with the noise of hammer- 
ing and smelt of beer. 

“ It all depends on what you see in a place, Juliet,” 
said Dally. “ Susan had associations that make St. For- 
tunes pleasant.” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed I have ! ” said Susan gratefully. 

“ She even admires Mrs. Murchison’s drawing room 
with four hundred and seventy blue spots on the wall,” 
said Dally. 

“ I know what you mean,” said Juliet. She looked 
around the small white paneled room, and thought of 
the tiny dark bedroom where her trunk filled every avail- 
able inch of space, the small dark passage, the noises 
from the kitchen next door; and, though she was not 
given to self-analysis, she smiled. Her cousin Archie 
sat cooped up in a corner by the window at that moment, 
the outline of his fine head showing dark against the sky. 
“ This house is so nice,” Juliet went on, “ though there 
is not much more room in it than a ship.” 

“ Pardon me — not half as much,” said Archie, cau- 
tiously stretching out his long legs in the allotted corner. 

“ I thought when I came here,” said Lady Agnes, “ the 
house was so small that it would be impossible ever to 
have even one person to stay, but I find people seem to 
like it. It is the river, I suppose.” 

“ Of course, nothing but the river, Aunt Agnes,” said 
Juliet, laughing. 

“ I think I should like to stay here always,” said 
Susan in her grave, childish way. 

Lady Agnes kissed her when she bade her good-night. 


172 THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ You will come and stay much longer some other time,” 
she said. 

Dally and Susan left the next morning. She sat at 
the carriage window very grave and silent, till long after 
the train had passed through the wooded valley of the 
Dart. Dally profusely offered her two new pennies for 
her thoughts, but she shook her head, and would not tell 
him what they were. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


wrn HE home of my fathers, as you will ob- 
I serve,” said Dally, “is closely surrounded by 
JL turnips.” He waved gleefully to show 
Susan where the house stood. They had gone on to Stri- 
ven the day after they came to Scotland, and arrived late 
in the afternoon at a small wayside station, where Mr. 
Stair had been warmly greeted by the porter. Dally 
said they would leave their luggage to follow and would 
walk to the house, so they set out down a wide high- 
walled road, past a row of small red-tiled cottages, then 
on for a long way, it seemed to Susan, through fields, 
before they came in sight of Striven. The house stood 
naked amongst these big fields ; one field on each side was 
planted with turnips. 

A row of old elm trees, very heavy-headed, with long 
branches that swept the ground and cast a deep shadow, 
shaded the front of the house, a plain, whitewashed 
building, with small windows flat in the wall, and a very 
low doorway that had a carved stone lintel above it. 
Owing to the shadow and dampness cast by the trees, one 
end of the long line of roof was covered with lichen ; the 
other caught the sun, and pigeons sat puffing on the 
crow steps of the gable. An old dog lay on the wide 
white stone at the door. He raised himself, growling, as 
they came up. 

“ Jock, old boy, don’t you know me? ” said Dally, and 


174 THE ROSE OF JOY 

as the beast lumbered forward, slobbering with joy, be 
threw his arms about it, and hugged it, and clapped it, 
and talked to it as if it had been his brother. Susan 
stood waiting while this greeting went on ; when Dally ■ 
raised his head at last his eyes were full of tears. 44 Go 
in — go in,” he said ; 44 straight on, Sue.” 

Susan entered a narrow hall that smelt of damp and 
matting. The house struck her as very silent, very 
gaunt, and very, very old. Every article of furniture 
was worn and bleached with age; a rut in the stones of 
the hall had been worn by the coming and going of many 
generations. 

44 Mother will be in the drawing room — in there,” said 
Dally, pushing open a door to the right. 44 Go in.” Just 
then he caught sight of a fat old woman servant crossing 
one of the passages, and he ran off to speak to her, so 
Susan found herself entering the drawing room alone. 

It was a low-roofed room with many windows, the floor 
barely covered with a tattered carpet, and full of the 
same smell of damp and age that hung about the hall. 

44 Who’s this ? ” said a harsh voice. 

Susan looked round and saw a tall, elderly woman 
standing in the opposite doorway, looking at her with 
astonishment. A tall, thin, red-haired woman, with high 
cheek-bones, a dab of color on each, and bold gray eyes. 
Her dress was both torn and spotted. She wore a huge 
garden hat tied under her chin with a handkerchief, and 
she carried a basketful of radishes on her arm. 

44 1 am Susan, Darnley’s wife,” said Susan at last, 
flushing under the hard stare. 


CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR 175 

64 Daily’s wife, are you? I’m his mother, then.” She 
held out her hand to Susan in an indifferent sort of way. 
46 How did you come here? We were not expecting you 
till next week. Just like Dally. Where is he? ” 

66 He stopped to speak to someone he saw in the hall.” 

44 Yes, of course; always flying off about something. 
Sit down ; I’ll call the girls.” 

She laid down the baskets, and Susan heard her call 
aloud, in her harsh voice (with a fine enunciation, for all 
that), 44 Kate! Julia! come here! Dally has come, and 
his wife. She’s in the drawing room.” 

Susan, blushing, her heart beating, and her hands 
cold with excitement, sat on an old yellow sofa in the 
echoing room, and wondered why she had ever been fool- 
ish enough to come unexpectedly to her husband’s home. 

Presently the door opened, and two gaunt young 
women slipped in. She knew at once that these were the 
sisters she had not seen. They were less vividly red than 
Carrie and Louisa, but had the same peaked faces and 
the same timorous manners. They looked quite as much 
embarrassed as Susan. One of them gave her a cold 
little kiss that felt like a damp leaf on her face, and they 
both said with a tremble, 44 We did not expect you till to- 
morrow.” 

Then came the sound of wheels along the passage, and 
Mrs. Stair re-entered, pushing a bath chair before her, 
in which sat a helpless old man. 

44 Here’s your daughter-in-law, John,” she said, stop- 
ping the chair with a jerk in front of Susan. 

Mr. Stair raised his head, and held out his hand with 


176 THE ROSE OF JOY 

a kind of slow grace that was like Dally — a warm, soft, 
weak old hand. He looked at Susan and smiled as well 
as his twisted face would allow. 

Susan was standing on the white skin rug by the 
fireplace. She wore a very dark blue dress that Dally, in 
an expansive moment, had bought for her, and had 
chosen himself, so that it became her very well. Her hat 
was slightly pushed aside by the wind, her hair far from 
tidy, but excitement had called up a carnation color to 
her cheeks, and her eyes seemed asking them all to like 
her, as she shyly glanced from one to another of her new 
relations. She made an effort to speak, and Mrs. Stair 
had just begun to say, “ What is that boy doing? ” 
when Dally returned. He kissed them in a perfunctory 
way all round, and wheeled his father’s chair nearer to 
the fire. 

Then one of her sisters-in-law offered to take Susan 
to her room. 

“I’ll give you the apple room,” said Mrs. Stair. 
“ You can’t expect your wife to put up with that little 
pigstye of yours, Darnley.” 

“ Oh, verjr well ! ” said Dally, grinning. “ Put her 
anywhere you like. She’s very good-natured ; she’ll com- 
plain of nothing.” He wheeled his father’s chair with a 
sudden movement that was almost a pirouette. “ You 
want to go back to the library now, sir ! ” 

Susan was horrified, but the old man seemed rather 
pleased, and smiled as Dally ran him off through the 
narrow doorway, just shaving a collision with the panel- 
ing as they passed out. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 177 

46 Hullo, Susan ! Lost in admiration of your luxurious 
surroundings, are you? ” said Dally, coming in a little 
later to the room that Susan had been conducted to. 
There was not much light, for the windows were small, 
with little panes of glass. A big square room with a rag 
of threadbare carpet in the middle of the floor; dark 
furniture ; a four-post bed with slender pillows and old 
green linen hangings embroidered with a design of 
apples. Susan had taken hold of one of the curtains, 
and held it spread out. 

44 How admirable ! ” she said, with a sigh of content- 
ment. 44 See the hard twist of the thread, and the bold 
design ; and the labor in it all.” 

She looked at Dally delightedly. It mattered nothing 
to her that she had scarcely the commonest comforts of 
life in other ways ; that fierce draughts blew cold through 
every chink in the paneling ; that the glass on the dress- 
ing-table was so blue and blurred she could hardly see 
her own face in it; that the boards of the floor were 
crumbling beneath her feet. She saw nothing to offend 
her, and the green apple hangings were all she wanted. 
44 A continual feast,” she said to Dally, who laughed up- 
roariously and kissed her, and told her to make that re- 
mark to his mother, and see what she said. 

Susan was somewhat tired after her journey and 
reasonably hungry. They came down to dinner in a 
cold dining room, hung with a long row of portraits, 
some of which were very good indeed. The old dog sat 
beside Mrs. Stair at one end of the table, on her left 
hand; on the right was her husband in his bath chair. 


178 THE ROSE OF JOY 

with a table napkin tucked under his chin. Two gaunt 
daughters sat on either side of the table, and Dally at 
the foot. Susan at home had always been accustomed to 
hugger-mugger ways, but also to plenty. Here was 
desolation indeed: a few blue-looking potatoes in a 
cracked dish, a very small piece of mutton at one end 
of the table and some darksome hash at the other. The 
old man had a basin of thin broth. He looked up in 
graceful, helpless distress, because he had let some of it 
run down his chin. Susan turned (she sat next him), 
and with a bright smile arranged his napkin again in a 
moment. 

Then came the next course. 

“ I prefer the mustard poultice,” said Dally in a low 
aside to Susan, as a gray bread-pudding was placed be- 
fore his mother. One of his sisters heard; she glanced 
quickty at Susan, and her whole thin face flushed. Susan 
appeared to have heard nothing; she did hear, however, 
after dinner, her mother-in-law’s harsh voice saying to 
one of the girls, “ She mayn’t be well born, but she is 
well bred.” She laughed to herself, wishing that the 
Irish aunts could have heard her. 

“ Dally,” she said to her husband afterwards, “ how 
could you — how could you? I was disgusted — and sur- 
prised.” 

Dally stared. “ My dearest Susan, I don’t even know 
what you’re talking about.” 

u This,” said Susan, laying her hand on his shoulder, 
“ that you should make fun of poverty before me, a 
stranger to you all — poverty,” she went on, “ that you 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 179 
do not share and that, it seems to me, you do very little 
to help. Why, you will have quite a good income now, 
and surely your mother and sisters need not want.” She 
paused, and Dally turned red. 

“ I didn’t know that you added a temper to your other 
charms, Susan. I never saw you angry before,” he said. 
“ As to poverty, I’ve only just had enough to live on for 
a very little while; and I’ve my own debts to pay, and 
I’m married now, and ” 

“ Debts ? Married ! Why did you marry if you were 
in debt? ” said Susan. 

“To help to pay ’em,” said Dally, turning away. 

Susan lay long awake that night when Dally was fast 
asleep. She watched the shadows about the roof as the 
moonlight shone out now and then from the clouded sky. 
She heard the wind rise nearly to a gale, howl about the 
chimneys and shake the ill-fitting window frames. 

“ I cannot go back — I must go forward,” she said to 
herself. The wind flew up from the sea, across the barren 
links and the long fields, shaking the green leaves off the 
elms and shrieking like a forsaken spirit as it passed. 
The old dog had followed Dally upstairs and lay upon 
the mat outside; Susan heard him in the pauses of the 
wind scratch and thud against the door. ’Twas a spring 
tempest, though quickly over, and before the early light 
came the vexed orchards were still again, and she heard 
all the birds begin to sing. 


CHAPTER XXV 


TER a fortnight at Striven, Susan found her- 



self upon better terms with Daily’s family than 


she had ever hoped to be. Mrs. Stair was a grim 
woman, not given to testifying affection for anyone. 
Her whole life had been a struggle between pride and 
poverty. It was sorely against her will that Darnley 
had become a brewer, and at first she had received the 
news of his engagement to Susan with disgust. 

44 He’d better have done the whole thing when he was 
at it,” she said, 64 and married the daughter of a rich 
Jew, or something of that sort, instead of merely a 
brewer’s niece.” 

Now, however, she had changed her attitude. She 
would never, from one point of view, consider Susan as 
a suitable wife for her son, but in another she thought 
her a world too good for him, and said so, and Dally 
laughed. The poor old man had grown so fond of his 
daughter-in-law that he would scarcely let her out of his 
sight. Indeed, Susan had a happy nature towards the 
darker side of life. She did not view anything morbidly. 
She had no eyes for the horrible. 44 How lovely his 
patience is ! ” she would say, when Dally, perhaps, was 
shuddering under some of his father’s infirmities. And 
as like draws to like, the poor sick old man turned to this 
sunny and gentle influence all that was left of life or 


180 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 181 
graciousness in him. The sisters too, accustomed to the 
superior standpoint of Minna, who considered them hope- 
less creatures, or the pity of young pretty cousins, who 
noticed their plainness, held up their heads a little under 
Susan’s true admiration of their 44 beautiful red hair,” 
and began to love her at once. 

There was a degree of tension on social points, for in 
connection with the brewery Mrs. Stair was unbending, 
and Daily’s jokes were very coldly received. One day 
Susan had a long letter from her mother, who mentioned 
that she had been advised to send one of the boys to be 
trained as a veterinary surgeon. In an incautious mo- 
ment Susan read this aloud at the breakfast table. 

“We blush green , you will observe,” said Dally, bend- 
ing to give a bone to the dog and treading on Susan’s 
toes under the table, 44 but we are blushing all the same.” 

Poor Susan looked innocently about her, and then one 
of her sisters-in-law (“ Call them 4 the girls ’ for con- 
venience,” as Dally said) remarked timidly that 44 in 
some ways it must be an interesting profession.” 

44 I must be off ; will you come and meet me ? ” said 
Dally, who was going to ride to St. Fortunes that morn- 
ing. 

Susan promised that she would. 

46 You can wait for me at the Star Inn, Sue,” he said. 
64 There is a bit of pine wood there that would delight 
you, and we’ll walk home together.” 

After he had gone Susan sat out beside old Mr. Stair, 
whose chair on fine days was wheeled into the garden. 
Her mother-in-law, in gloves and a garden hat, was 


182 


THE ROSE OE JOY 
grubbing amongst the vegetables. Susan read aloud for 
a while, and then, thinking the old man was asleep, she 
laid down her book and sat in silence, looking across the 
little glade before them. The useful part of the garden 
stopped at the hedge under which they sat, and the 
ground ran off into a straggling bit of wood, just at that 
season all one sheet of wild hyacinths. Susan gazed and 
gazed, as if she had forgotten the present altogether. 

“ My dear,” said the old man ; he lifted his soft, weak 
right hand (the other he could not move) and laid it on 
hers — “ a penny for your thoughts just now.” 

“My thoughts?” said Susan. She looked towards 
the flowers before them. “ I was thinking that in gar- 
ments of color like that the souls of the righteous will ap- 
pear before God.” 

“ Dear me, dear me,” said Mr. Stair, with a sigh. 
“ Very beautiful, my child, and very true, but will you 
let an old man give you a word of advice ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; please do, sir,” said Susan, smiling. 

“ It is this, my dear. My son can, in some measure ” 
— he spoke slowly and painfully — “ understand those 
things, too. But a man like my son,” he went on, “ re- 
quires more than beautiful thoughts to keep him straight. 
He wants firmness. He is too easily led. His wife 
should be the one who rules.” 

“ I was not ‘ born to rule 9 anyone,” said Susan, shak- 
ing her head. 

“ Ah, I am not sure of that. You may rule by love. 
You may persuade him to do right.” 

Susan wondered at this. She wondered if Mr. Stair 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 183 
found much fault with Dally ; he at least never expressed 
it openly, as his wife did. When her mother-in-law re- 
turned, Susan left the old man and started off to meet her 
husband. 

It was one of the first hot days of spring. She climbed 
slowly up the long hill that led to the brow of the ridge 
of land, from the top of which you could look away over 
to the west as far as St. Fortunes Haven. On one side 
of the road was a little wood of black pines ; the trees 
were planted so close together that it seemed as if it 
would be impossible to thread a way between them. All 
the brightness and stir of the merry May weather was 
shut out; perpetual night seemed to hang in there; so 
black was the shadow that the gnats and flies that flick- 
ered in the sunshine above the road showed like specks of 
light against it. 

“ Here,” thought Susan, 44 My heart can speak.” She 
looked up the long stretch of road. Dally was nowhere 
in sight; the little wayside inn showed no sign of life. 
She opened the gate that led into the plantation, and 
walked in farther and yet farther, her footsteps cracking 
on the dry floor: then she sat down in the dense shadow, 
breathed in the aromatic air, and heard the faint wash 
of the breeze in the boughs above. 

She sat still for a long time, her hands clasped, her 
head bent half aside like one who hears the whisper of a 
friend. 46 1 shall leave it all here,” she whispered, 44 be- 
fore I go back.” First, there was her bitter envy of 
Juliet’s beauty, then at last she gave a little sigh of re- 
lief, for she knew that the remembrance of Daily’s eager 


184 THE ROSE OF JOY 

glances had power to hurt her no longer. Roused by the 
sound of a horse’s feet, she moved forwards between the 
trees and stood where she was visible from the road. In 
a few minutes Dally came in sight, riding with a slack 
rein, sitting back in his saddle. Before the inn door the 
horse started at something, and in an instant his hand 
was on the beast’s neck, and the odd, quick sympathy 
between them showed itself in a moment. He looked 
about, caught sight of Susan where she stood, and, tying 
his horse to the gate, came up quickly beside her and 
threw himself on the ground at her feet. 

“ Eh, this is refreshing! The sun is as hot as June 
to-day. Have you been waiting long ? ” 

“ For a little while. I liked it,” said Susan. 

“ It was all so abominable to-day,” Dally continued. 
“ That old uncle of yours was ill-pleased because I had 
not come back sooner — made me promise we’d return on 
Monday. He’s had a fit of gout, or something, and thinks 
I’m necessary to the business. I’m sick of the whole 
thing. That clerk makes me sick; he bites his nails the 
whole time he isn’t spitting. Ugh, I’m hot and miser- 
able.” He closed his eyes and leant back his head against 
Susan’s knee as she sat beside him. 

“ In mind or body ? ” asked Susan, smiling, touching 
his face with her cool finger. 

“ Oh, both — both, Susan ! ” he cried, seizing her hand 
and pressing it against his head. “ How cool your 
hand is ! It feels like cold water on my head. I say, it’s 
dark here ! Are shadows a 6 twilight of the gods,’ do you 
think? or the shadow of death? or the birthplace of 


CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE 185 
night? or the nest of sleep? ” He looked up at his wife 
as he suggested the string of ideas. “ Oh, I’m such an 
ugly brute ! ” he went on, looking at his own hand. 
“ Isn’t it horrid to be so ugly, Sue? If I were not so 
ugly now, and if I had a little of a fortune 
Juliet Clephane would have thought me a very fine young 
man.” 

Susan laughed outright. She pulled the little lock 
of red hair that hung down on his brow. “ And,” she 
said, “ if I had a white neck, and a face like a rose, and 
plenty of money. . . . perhaps someone would think me 
a very fine young woman, too ! ” 

“ I wouldn't! ” said Dally, sitting up suddenly. “ I 
like you just as you are. I wouldn’t have you changed 
the least bit in the world — if only you dressed better, 
and were just an inch tal]|r,” he added. He stared 
again into the wood. “ Did you find anything here, 
Susan? ” he asked, turning to look at her eagerly. 
“ What ? what ? what ? ” 

Susan shook her head and smiled. “ Nothing I can 
quite explain.” 

“ Susan,” said Dally, after a pause, “ I wish you 
would allow me to tell you that old story I spoke of 
before.” 

“ I’d rather not,” said Susan. She added, “ Was 
that why you were in debt? ” 

“ Partly — that was long ago — but I borrowed money, 
and you know you pay in gold for every bit of silver you 
get in that way.” 

They had risen and were walking homewards, Dally 


186 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
leading his horse. He seemed lost in gloomy medita- 
tion ; did not even remark that he was hungry. At last 
he looked up suddenly. 

“ I’m afraid,” he said, very soberly, “ if I ever have 
a son that he’ll be a prig.” 

Susan burst out laughing. She colored, too, and 
looked up at him with her blue eyes, as she turned in to 
the gate, when they reached the house. 

“ I don’t think you need alarm yourself about that, 
Darnley.” 

“ These things always go contrary,” said Dally, and 
led his horse off to the stable. She heard him speak- 
ing to it very much as he had spoken to her, as they 
went away. The beast appeared to understand. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A MONTH later Susan returned to St. Fortunes, 
to be announced in its parlors as 44 Mrs. Darn- 
ley Stair,” and to settle into her new way of life 
as best she could. 

Damley was very busy, for Mr. Murchison put things 
more into his hands now, and took an occasional holiday. 
Susan’s gentle, accommodating nature found little diffi- 
culty in living in her aunt’s house, but she felt that Dally 
could not stand it for very long. True, he quite ap- 
preciated the creature comforts with which they were 
surrounded. He had a keen appetite for all the lower 
pleasures of life, if for some of its higher ones too. 
When food that he liked was before him his lips glis- 
tened ; he would shut his eyes in an ecstasy when he smelt 
a rose. But a corresponding keenness of annoyance was 
the balance of this. The sight of 44 old Murchison ” (as 
he would call her uncle, rather to Susan’s dismay), with 
a silk handkerchief over his face, snoring in an after- 
dinner nap, made him shudder. The six-o’clock dinners 
in the low-roofed, dark dining room; the mingled odors 
of the rich food; the unshaded lights; and the heavy 
conversation upset him altogether. He would start off 
on some subject of his own, freakish or altogether un- 
intelligible to anyone but Susan, rattling away quite 
regardless of what he said, or of Mrs. Murchison’s lower- 

187 


188 THE ROSE OF JOY 

ing face, until some remark more than usually indiscreet 
brought her wrath down upon him, as he would say, 
44 like a cart of bricks.” 

Shortly after their return to St. Fortunes, one even- 
ing two or three of Mr. Murchison’s friends had dined 
with them — all business men — and the meal had been 
very prolonged. Susan was sitting alone in the huge 
drawing room after dinner. It was a warm August 
evening, the windows were open, and the smell of the sea 
and the voices of the little town came into the room. 

The long line of sea visible above the red roofs of the 
brewery was scarlet — the sunset cast a glow on the white 
wall with four hundred and seventy blue spots. There 
was a jar of fresh roses on the table. Susan wore a 
lilac muslin dress. She sat knitting by the window when 
Dally came into the room. 

44 I could have taken more to drink,” he said, glanc- 
ing round to make sure that Susan was alone, 4 4 but one 
other story from that man with the waistcoat was more 
than I could stand.” 

44 My uncle must give dinners to those people, you 
know,” said Susan. 

44 Dinners ! They’re feeds ! ” said Dally, sitting on 
the old-fashioned piano stool as he spoke, and wheeling 
himself round and round. 44 Brewers and distillers, and, 
for all I know, graziers and cattle merchants — every- 
thing that tends to fat. I wonder that malt and oilcake 
aren’t the viands.” 

44 Oh, Dally! I’m afraid you are always looking at 
the wrong side of things.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 189 

“ Indeed I am not. It’s not that I’m quite such an 
ass, Susan, as to think I’m better than my company any- 
where. Lord knows, waistcoats and all, they’re better 
men than me! But I’ve been put to the wrong trade; 
I’m in the square hole, and I’m round.” 

Susan laid down her knitting and looked at him in 
silence. 

44 Well, what is it? What are you thinking? ” he 
asked, for he was always ready to listen to her. 

44 Who is happy ? Who is satisfied with the circum- 
stances of life? ” Susan began. She spoke slowly, and 
she looked at Dally in a curious, grave way, like a person 
addressing a naughty child. 44 When I was young — I 
mean before I married you, Dally — I used to look for- 
ward in a vague kind of way to something, I don’t quite 
know what — like seeing the sun through a mist ; all girls 
do, I think. Now I see that my life is going to be 
quite different from what I thought I should have 
liked.” 

64 What was that ? ” Dally asked curiously. 

Susan’s eyes dilated, her voice trembled a little, she 
drew herself up and looked straight at him. 44 Do you 
think you are the only person in a square hole? — that no 
women feel like that? There is one thing in the world 
I should have chosen, 4 one thing have I desired and 
that I cannot have. I should like to be able to give up 
everything else and follow it.” 

44 I know, I know,” said Dally, quickly catching at 
her thought. 44 Of course you do ; it’s those little draw- 
ings of yours. But you know, my dear, no woman was 


190 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
ever good for much at that kind of thing. Should you 
have liked to give up everything else for that? ” 

Susan was silent. 

44 Pooh ! Art’s a cold bedfellow,” Dally went on. 
44 Every woman ought to be married. You’d just have 
ground yourself all away into a regular grubby, paint- 
stained sort of creature. I’ve seen heaps of them. You 
never have, or you wouldn’t envy them. They’re not 
painters, and they’ve none of the common interests of 
women.” 

44 You don’t quite understand, Darnley,” Susan said. 
44 It’s not for the sake of anything I could ever accom- 
plish; I never think of that. I don’t care though they 
should all be buried in my coffin, and nobody ever see 
a line of them except myself. All I care for is to try 
— and try.” Her voice broke, but she controlled herself 
and continued quietly, 44 But that is all impossible. I’ll 
do a little in a stupid way, because I can’t help it, but 
the work of my life is all going to be in another direc- 
tion. Pictures are just like a door to me that stands 
a little bit open and lets me see into another world — a 
world where Colonel Hamilton once told me are 4 the in- 
destructible joys forever.’ ” 

44 Dear me, Susan,” said Dally, astonished, 44 I had no 
idea that you felt like that. I say now, what do you 
see in there? ” he asked, sinking into a confidential tone. 
44 Do you remember Rembrandt’s 4 Man in Armor ’ that 
we saw? It kept you dumb for half an hour. You told 
me it would be 4 a perpetual reminder.’ What do you 
see? ” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 191 

“ Oh, a golden world ! ” Susan said, letting her work 
fall on her lap; her eyes were fixed upon the blood-red 
field of the sky, visible above the long line of the brewery 
roofs. “ A golden world, where sorrow is forgotten, 
where people talk one language and smile in each other’s 
faces, and work is finished without hurry, and labor never 
spared.” 

“ Very social,” said Dally; he looked at her critically. 
“ You ought to be under a spindle-stemmed tree,” he 
said, “ with an infinitely calm sky above you, and a baby 
on your knee, and an infant St. John on his knees at 
your feet.” 

“ But, oh, Dally ! ” cried Susan, “ I could make a pic- 
ture like that only with one of our own skies, and a tree 
that grows in Scotland — just one of those half-clad, 
white-kneed little trees that grow about grassy places 
by themselves; and it ought to be as full of the eternal 
calm as the old one; it is all there still if we could find 
it out.” 

“ Well, you and I aren’t likely to find it in St. For- 
tunes,” said Dally, returning with a sigh to the actual 
(his flights were short). “ The brewers will be upon 
us immediately.” 

As the lamps were brought in Susan rose to draw 
down the blinds, reluctantly shutting out the flaming 
sky that still smoldered in fiery lines above the distant 
city smoke. Every sunset to her meant an actual pos- 
session, as solid as any shilling in her uncle’s purse. 

Dally sat staring at her, not offering to assist her, evi- 
dently lost in some new train of thought. 


192 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ Did you ever see anything so awful as old Murchi- 
son eating a peach? ” he burst out, realizing that he 
should have drawn down the blind, and jumping for- 
wards. “ It’s a sight to disgust God.” 

“ Oh, hush ! ” said Susan. “ Dally, don’t speak like 
that!” 

“ Well, you know what I mean — I don’t mean to be 
profane — but it was." 

“ Do you remember about the 6 eating with unwashen 
hands,’ and what it was that defiled a man? ” said Susan 
softly. 

Dally stood rebuked like a child. When the other 
people came into the room he listened to old Murchison’s 
heaviest story with a look of reverent attention that was 
quite touching, till, struck by some absurdity in the nar- 
rator, he turned awa}' abruptly to hide a smile. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


J ULIET CLEPHANE and Colonel Hamilton drove 
over from Linfield one day to see Susan. Dally 
found them when he came in from the office, Juliet 
a seemly sight indeed in her summery clothes. Susan 
had drawn a little chair very close to her, and sat holding 
her hand, thereby showing, all unconsciously, the differ- 
ence between her local clothing and Juliet’s dress. Dally 
did not like to notice that, but it was the sort of thing 
that he always did notice in spite of himself. 

Juliet looked up at him, and her color deepened 
slightly. There was something so curious in the sight 
of Dally married. 

“ Very much like seeing your own dog following a 
new master — mistress, rather,” Archie said to her, when 
she spoke of it afterwards. 

Dally greeted his relatives, and, taking his stand on 
the rug, began to expatiate on dullness. 

“ I take it like an illness,” he said. “ It comes upon 
me suddenly, perhaps in church, perhaps at the office, 
most often m the house, when I’m talking to somebody 
I don’t like.” He paused and looked pensive, remem- 
bering a particularly bad recent attack. “ When I’m 
taken bad with it, Juliet, I must go away. It just seems 
to strike into my very soul — what it means to be wasting 
good, short life in a place like this ! ” 

193 


194 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

44 My dear Dally,” said Colonel Hamilton, “ one place 
is just as good as another, to my mind. Is Susan afflicted 
in this way too ? ” 

44 Of course she isn’t, but that’s just because she’s no 
sense of the value of time,” said Dally. 64 ’Pon my word, 
I often feel like a child at a school treat — just not 
able to eat all the buns in the given time — and one 
can’t put any in one’s pocket, dying,” he added 
sadly. 

44 This is a morbid vein for you,” said Juliet, laugh- 
ing. 46 1 thought when Susan and you were alone ” 
(the Murchisons had gone away for a fortnight), 44 that 
you would never be dull.” 

44 They’ll soon be back,” said Dally ; he was gloomy 
that afternoon. He moved to the window and exclaimed, 
44 There’s my mother ! She’s driven over with Carrie. 
Oh , Susan ! ” 

Susan laughed at him, and ran down to meet old Mrs. 
Stair, who very seldom came to St. Fortunes. 

44 The oppressive thing is,” Dally informed the others 
in a whisper, 44 that Susan's mother is coming to-day 
too.” 

Juliet rose. He grasped her arm passionately. 
44 Stay, like an angel, do, Judy. I can’t manage more 
than one of ’em.” 

44 Shall I kiss you, mother? ” he inquired, bending 
above Mrs. Stair as she stalked into the room. 

44 Certainly not. I don’t like it,” was the reply. 44 Oh, 
are you here, Maurice, and you, Juliet? I’ll kiss you,” 
she added, looking at her. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 195 

“ Most extraordinary taste,” muttered Dally, placing 
a chair for his mother. 

Mrs. Stair wore, as usual, a very old dress, a poke 
bonnet, and a threadbare summer cloak. She looked 
about for Susan, who had left the room, and then began 
to talk family affairs with her cousin, while Dally drew 
Juliet aside. 

“ There’s Mrs. Crawford. I know the rattle of that 
fly,” he said. 44 Really, Susan might have arranged 
better. I’m not equal to it to-day.” 

44 Here is my mother, Mrs. Stair,” said Susan sweetly, 
entering at that moment. 

Mrs. Crawford, too, had had a long drive in the heat. 
Her black clothing was much spotted and covered (by 
some mysterious process, probably from the cushions of 
the fly) with hay seed. 

Mrs. Stair stood up and greeted her grimly. 

44 1 was sorry to hear that Mr. Stair had been so ill,” 
began Mrs. Crawford. 44 1 hope he is better. Is he here 
to-day ? ” 

44 He has not been beyond the garden few three years.” 

44 Dear me ! How strange — I mean, how sad ! Susan 
is greatly attached to Mr. Stair,” said Mrs. Crawford, 
vaguely amiable. 

44 And he to her,” said Mrs. Stair, softening for a 
moment to Susan. 

44 1 meant to bring Emily,” Mrs. Crawford pursued. 
44 But she has given her ankle a nasty sprain, and we had 
the doctor, quite a young man, though his name is 
Tollemache ; and he says she must keep perfectly still, so 


196 THE ROSE OF JOY 

she hasn’t moved a step, except just to chase the hens 

off the lawn, for two days.” 

44 Now,” said Dally, 44 if you tell Susan that Emmy 
is ill, she’ll leave me at a moment’s warning and fly to 
her.” 

44 She is a good nurse,” said Mrs. Stair. Susan sat 
between them, rather dismayed. 

44 Very,” said Mrs. Crawford. 44 There was a time 
when Tommy was so ill. He had eaten nearly a peck ” 
(“ Oh, surely not quite,” from Dally, who was begin- 
ning to be amused) — 44 well, a quart of unripe goose- 
berries, and he couldn’t stop twitching for a moment, 
even to say his prayers, and Susan sat up with him all 
night. Mr. Evans, the veterinary surgeon, came over 
to see Dick last night,” she began to Susan. 

(“ Oh, hush! ” breathed Dally.) 

44 He thinks he will do very well.” 

64 Is a horse ill? ” asked Juliet, wondering whose ani- 
mal it was that Mrs. Crawford took such an interest in. 

44 No, it’s my son — the second boy. He’s not ill, I 
mean, but we hope to get him into Mr. Evans’ surgery. 
He’s so fond of animals, though rabbits are a little dif- 
ferent from horses, of course, but they’ve had a Belgian 
hare for years.” 

Mrs. Stair got up grimly. 44 As you have so many 
people, Susan, I won’t stay. I must be home early. I’ll 
leave Carrie here for the night, if you like, as you ask 
her.” 

Dally looked piteous; Carrie, sitting silent, beamed 
with pleasure; Mrs. Stair departed, but Mrs. Crawford 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 197 
made a prolonged stay. Dally and Susan both went to 
the door with Juliet and Colonel Hamilton when they 
left. 

It was a breathless afternoon, when the sea looked like 
lead. A scanty shower had laid some of the thick dust 
on the roads, but the sky was lowering, and there was 
a sense of thunder in the air. Juliet turned and waved 
to them as they drove away. Dally stood on the door- 
step, doleful. 

“ I can’t go back and entertain Carrie and your mother 
after that,” he said. 

“ You don’t need to; I will go,” said Susan. “Go 
out and walk or ride if you’re not busy.” 

“ Life is oppressing me,” said Dally. “ Let us do 
something wicked — couldn’t we? — and get wakened 
up.” 

“ See ! ” said Susan, “ how that boat comes in ; it’s just 
like a beautiful woman coming into a drawing room.” 

“ Just so,” cried Dally, charmed, forgetting his pet- 
tishness as he watched, along the strip of water that they 
saw between the crowding fisher houses, a boat, with 
white, new sails half furled, slip into the little harbor, 
with noiseless, incomparable grace. 

“ You’re a darling, Susan ; I’m a beast. I’ll take your 
mother into the garden, if you talk to Carrie. But, mind, 
half an hour’s all that I can do; I wander after that; 
besides, she came to see you.” 

“ Of course she did,” said Susan cheerfully, “ and 
Carrie came to see you.” 

“ No, she didn’t,” said Dally. “ There’s more variety 


198 THE ROSE OF JOY 

about your mother — to me at least. You take Carrie, 5 * 

he entreated. 

Susan laughed and put her hand on his shoulder, and 
they ended by going back to the relatives together. 

Mrs. Crawford left at half-past six, climbing up into 
the vehicle with some difficulty, and (to Daily’s delight) 
unintentionally taking the box seat. She remarked that 
she had had such a pleasant afternoon. 44 I hope to find 
Emmy better, if she’s kept quite still.” 

44 If she has been chasing the hens all day, the doctor 
will be displeased, I fancy, though 4 his name is Tolle- 
mache,’ ” murmured Dally, obtrusively putting into the 
carriage a long end of loose braid that hung from Mrs. 
Crawford’s skirts, as he covered her with the rug. 

44 Dally, you are really naughty,” said Susan, trying 
not to laugh, when they turned back into the house to- 
gether. 

44 Now for Carrie all evening,” said Dally. 44 1 think 
I will be ill and go to bed. I am ill; you can tell her 
so, and she’ll feel so sorry.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


D ALLY came in the next evening, quite animated 
with a new idea. 

“ Please get ready to come out with me, 
Susan,” he said. 


“ Where are you going? ” asked Susan, smiling at 
his eagerness. 

*“To the mission meeting at the Haven, of course. 
All the people are crowding there every night. I’m 
going to see if I can get converted,” he said, with much 
zest. Susan looked grave. “ Don’t be shocked, Susan,” 
he said. “ It’s an experience: it happens to half a dozen 
people down there every night. Come with me, and 
we’ll see.” 


Susan demurred, but Dally looked so crestfallen and 
disappointed that she went with him in the end. 

They had some little w&y to walk. At all the street 
corners, in the warm evening air, stood groups of miners 
and fishermen, who looked after them kindly, for Mr. 
Stair was a favorite in the town. At the door of the 
little mission hall Dally stopped ; the very passage-way 
seemed blocked with people. Susan would have turned 
back, but a man who stood by the door with a bundle of 
tracts in his hand motioned them to follow him through 
the crowd. He led them up through a room full of 
people, who sat crowded together upon narrow wooden 
benches. The air was thick and foul, the windows dim 


199 


200 THE ROSE OF JOY 

with steam, the benches very hard. Susan made herself 
as comfortable as she could by leaning against the wall 
— she was at the top of the bench — and quietly resigned 
herself to patience for an hour. Such a service made 
absolutely no appeal to her nature at all. She did not 
understand it or the effect it had on others. Several 
times when she was a child her mother had taken her to 
meetings of a similar description which used to be held 
in the little schoolhouse near their home. Susan had 
never heard or taken part in an argument on religion in 
her life, but had quietly acquiesced in the form of Pres- 
byterian worship in which she had been brought up. 
She was very humble and uncritical of others, and kept 
her own unshaken faith and preferences as to form en- 
tirely to herself. There are rare souls to be found some- 
times who have from childhood an “ inward liberty ” that 
is unaffected by circumstances. 44 Of such is the king- 
dom of heaven.” 

Dally, however, had active preferences and dislikes. 
He leant forwards at first, earnestly listening to all that 
the preacher said, but as the address lengthened and 
became reiterative, his interest flagged, and he began to 
look about him. 

44 I don’t feel anything , do you? ” he whispered, smil- 
ing, leaning forward in one of his pretty attitudes to 
look at Susan. She shook her head, and Dally bent 
nearer. 44 Oh, look, Susan ! Did you ever see anything 
so hideous as that fat woman with the three chins in the 
corner? Do you think that she could be converted 
now? ” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 201 

44 Oh, hush ! ” said Susan. 44 You must not speak so 
loud. « Do be quiet.” 

Dally was now looking all about him. The air grew 
closer; the preacher waxed yet more vigorous. There 
came a pause, when he said, 44 If any soul here feels the 
power and conviction of sin, let him cast away all thought 
of man, and come forward and kneel down.” 

Dally, who for the last few moments had been sitting 
with his red head bent, apparently hearing nothing, made 
a sudden movement. Susan quickly laid her hand on his 
arm. 

44 I’m sure I’m convinced enough of sin, anyway,” he 
whispered. 44 I’d like to go and kneel there and grovel, 
Sue. Perhaps I’d feel something then.” 

44 Don’t,” Susan entreated ; he still would have risen. 
44 Don’t. . . . my dear,” she added. 

She rarely used any such expression, and it had the 
expected result of instantly checking Daily’s current of 
thought. He looked up at her and smiled, and then 
leaned back in his seat, watching the faces of the 
people. 

As a noisy hymn was being shouted out from the plat- 
form, and the audience rose to sing, they managed to 
slip out. 

Quite a crowd had collected in the passage and blocked 
the way out. A damp young man was offering hymn- 
books, and trying to keep order. The people parted a 
little to let Susan and Dally pass — he going first, look- 
ing back every now and then, holding his head high with 
the curious air of distinction he had at times. 


202 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ Faugh ! How good the air tastes again ! ” he ex- 
claimed, as at last they emerged from the crowd. 
“ What’s that in 4 Coriolanus ’ about their 6 stinking 
breaths ’ ? Oh, smell the sea, Susan ! How salt ! How 
clean ! ” He took off his hat and turned to face the 
wind. 

Susan as she stood by him observed a poor woman 
with a child beside her, sitting on a stone at the end of 
the meeting-house. Dally, too, noticed her in a moment, 
and pinched Susan’s arm. 

The woman did not seem aware of their presence. She 
leaned forward with her elbow resting on her knees ; her 
whole body shook with sobs ; her hair, half unbound, fell 
across her face; with one hand she covered her eyes, with 
the other held that of the staring child who stood fright- 
ened by her grief. 

44 Quite a Magdalen,” said Dally. 

44 Come away,” said Susan, turning quickly to walk 
on. 

“ No, go and speak to her,” he urged. 44 Bless me, 
Susan ! where’s the good of going to this sort of thing 
if you can’t say a word to a poor woman in such dis- 
tress.” 

Susan walked on for a few steps. Dally hesitated. 

44 Oh, confound it ! Are you going to let her cry there 
until the other people gather about her to stare, or till 
that beastly man comes out to thunder damnations at 
her? ” 

He walked back and stood beside the woman, much 
embarrassed ; then said in his most alluring way : 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 203 

66 Look here, if you’ll stop crying I’ll give you a 
shilling.” He fingered the coin as he spoke. 

The woman panted a great sore sigh. “ A shilling ! 
Merciful God ! ” she said, raising a swollen face that 
struck Dally dumb. 

“ There’s my wife,” said he, turning helplessly to 
Susan, who was drawn forwards in spite of herself. She 
stooped over the woman and laid her hand on her 
shoulder. 

“ Why do you cry like that? ” she said. 44 It will do 
you no good.” 

44 My sins ! My red sins ! ” said the poor thing, with 
a shiver of fresh weeping. Susan bent lower; her voice 
was clear and sweet. 

44 What is making you so miserable? Are you very 
sorry for anything you have done wrong? ” 

The woman began to pour out a story. Dally, linger- 
ing by the wall, caught only a word or two — “ Good sit- 
uation ; ” 44 never thought any harm.” She sobbed and 
sobbed again. 

“ See,” said Susan gently, 44 your dear little boy is 
quite frightened.” 

44 He’s tired — the bairn — an’ hungry.” 

44 Where do you live?” asked Susan, smiling at the 
child. 

44 Down there ” — she pointed to the squalid street. 

44 Have you no food? Have you any money? ” 

44 Oh, aye,” the woman blurted, wiping her disfigured 
face on the corner of her shawl; 44 I’ve food an’ money; 
it’s no’ that.” 


204 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ Go home,” said Susan, “ and give your child his 
supper, and care for him. God, who is our Father, will 
give food to your soul, and be kind to 3mu, too, just like 
that, if you ask Him and are not afraid.” 

The woman looked up at her fearfully. Something 
shone from Susan’s eyes straight into hers; the soft as- 
surance of her voice, the deep conviction with which she 
spoke arrested her. She rose, with a final sigh and sob, 
replaced her tattered hat, and, drawing her shawl about 
her, took the child by the hand. 

44 Good-night,” said Susan ; “ do not be afraid.” She 
pushed her husband’s hand away. 44 Don’t give her 
money ; it’s not that she wants,” she whispered. “ If 
you show me where you live,” she said, “ I will come to 
see you ; perhaps I could help you to get some work, or 
help you in some other way.” 

44 Thank ye, mem,” said the woman, looking doubtful. 
She pointed to one of the houses midway down the street. 
44 I’m in Jeanie Morrison’s the noo — No. 28.” Susan 
held out her hand. The woman hesitated, then humbly 
wiped her own hand upon her shawl before taking 
Susan’s. She burst into pitiful tears again at her touch, 
and turned weeping away. 

Dally and Susan walked on in silence. 

44 Poor thing ! Poor thing ! ” said Susan at last. 

44 What was it all about? ” asked Dally. 

44 Oh ” — Susan reddened — 44 it began with a gentle- 
man at St. Andrews.” She sighed. 

44 Poor girl ! ” said Dally. He walked on a bit, then 
raised his head suddenly. 44 Have mercy upon me, for I 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 205 
am a sinful man, O Lord ! . . . A gentleman in St. An- 
drews ! I could tell you things, Susan, but perhaps it 
would be more judicious not to. It’s delicious, though, to 
make a 6 clean shrift.’ I’d like to ; I said so once to 
Maurice Hamilton. 4 You can enjoy that luxury in 
prayer,’ he said ; but you can’t, for you get no reply.” 

Just then his eye was caught by the color of the sunset. 

44 Look, look, how splendid, Susan ! It’s lovely, and 
your cheek is just the same for a moment. I wish you 
always had a color like that. Lord ! I’m hungry ! 
Won’t supper be good when we get home? Sometimes 
I wish I was a workingman; they must enjoy their food 
and sleep so much more than we do.” 

44 Nobody could enjoy them more than you do,” said 
Susan, looking at him with her tolerant smile. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


T WO or three days afterwards Susan set out to 
find the woman they had spoken to after the 
meeting. She was timid about offering money 
to any of the poor around them, the old-fashioned half- 
crown system being the usual form of assistance given at 
St. Fortunes, but “ they need other things so much 
more,” said Susan, who had theories of her own which 
she did not attempt to express. 

It was a very hot August afternoon when she started 
to walk to the other end of the village. The house she 
sought was half-way down the street — a side street of 
brick houses, erected not many years before. 

By the time she reached it the sun beat down with 
intolerable force, and the double row of brick houses 
seemed to contain the heat of an oven. A clothes-line 
hung with shriveled cloths and garments made a partial 
curtain across the road. Susan stepped aside to avoid a 
heap of garbage on the edge of the footpath, and a 
swarm of flies rose from it as she passed. 

The door of the house was shut : the windows closed : 
the door stone apparently unwashed for days: a cat sat 
on it, crunching the head of a bird. At sight of the in- 
truder it left the mouthful and slunk away. 

Susan knocked twice: there was no answer: she tried 
the handle of the door, and found it locked. As she 
206 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 207 
turned about to go away, someone called, “ Hi, there ! ” 
and she saw a child about twelve detach herself from a 
group of children who were playing marbles at the end 
of the road. 

“ Here’s the key; she’s in bye; jest go in,” she said, 
and, thrusting a key into Susan’s hand, darted away. 

Susan tried the key, the lock turned. She opened the 
door and listened. A weak voice called, “ Come in bye.” 
The small passage was so hot and noisome that she shrank 
from going in, then took courage, and walked up, and 
entered the room on the right-hand side. 

At first she saw nothing but a heap of coarse quilts 
on the iron bed by the wall. Then the woman lying 
under them raised herself feebly. Her face was gaunt 
and frightened-looking, so that Susan scarcely recog- 
nized the same person she had seen the week before. All 
the freckles on her cheeks showed brown upon her pallor ; 
sweat poured down her face and neck ; her hair hung in 
wet slips, disordered about her brow. 

“ Eh, mem ! ” she exclaimed, in the same weak, 
throaty voice, “ I’m feared to pit ma hand oot from 
under the claes. I was confined last night, an’ I’m feared 
o’ the cold.” 

The heat in the little room with closed windows was 
dreadful. Susan sat down by the bedside, horrified. 

“ But have you no one to take care of you? The heat 
is dreadful. Can I do anything for you?” She 
looked at the poor thing afraid to throw off one of her 
heavy coverings. A cup of some kind of gruel was on a 
chair by the bed, with a bit of thick, soft biscuit. 


208 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

44 I’ll do fine — I’m better noo. It’s just the cold I’m 
afraid of,” said the woman again. 

44 And your baby ? ” asked Susan. 

The mother turned painfully on her side, lifted just 
a corner of the quilt, and showed Susan the day-old child, 
sleeping in spite of the heavy coverings about it. Susan 
gave her a drink ; warmed some water on the fire, and 
washed her hands ; persuaded her to take off one of the 
coarse coverlets, shook up her pillows, and then sat still 
beside her, and listened while slowly the poor thing told 
a short story. 

44 Ye’re merrit yersel’P ” she asked. 

Susan nodded — she could not speak. 

44 Will this be yer first, mistress?” she inquired, 
glancing at Susan, who got rather pale and nodded 
again. 

44 They’re a trouble too,” said the woman ; 44 but ye’ll 
have aw’ thing braw, an’ a man o’ yer ain. It’s no’ like 
the likes o’ me.” 

44 I am so sorry for you. May God have mercy on us 
all,” said Susan. Her words failed her. She was not 
given to seeing anything in a morbid light, but sitting 
there, the poor, noisy, fetid room, with closed windows, 
and its outlook upon other brick walls, oppressed her. 
The untempting, scanty food, the sufferings, the help- 
lessness, the whole doleful difference between rich and 
poor came over her with a wave of distress that took away 
her power of speech altogether. She just sat with tears 
gathering in her kind eyes, looking at the woman lying 
on the bed before her, but unable to say a word. There 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 209 
was silence. The woman closed her eyes and seemed to 
sleep ; the child’s hardly audible breathing came and 
went ; outside the noises lessened as the people came in- 
doors for a meal. Then Susan heard a quick, loud 
step in the passage, and the door opened behind her. 
The woman opened her eyes and smiled faintly. 

46 It’s you. I’m real well. It’s a leddy come tae see 
us.” 

“ Yer welcome! Sirs, but it’s hot!” A great ball 
woman carying an armful of vegetables, and evidently 
just returned from work in the fields, came into the room. 

Susan knew her well, and she half rose from her chair. 
In a little village common report is made of all things. 
Susan knew the history, recognized the broad, red, bat- 
tered face, as shameless as an animal’s, which belonged 
to Jean Morrison. 

“ It’s Mistress Stair ! ” she exclaimed. Her voice was 
harsh and loud. “ Sit ye doon, mistress. It’s kind o’ ye 
to luik in on the cretar. She’s doin’ fine noo. She’s my 
dochter, ye ken,” she added, with a sharp glance at 
Susan. “ We maun a’ tak’ oor turn. Ye’re lucky as 
wants the bairns. There’s many comes when they’re no’ 
wantit.” She laughed, a huge, shameless, not unkindly 
laugh, showing her full row of strong teeth, and stood 
by her daughter’s bedside, looking down at Susan. Her 
dress was coarse, but very clean and tidy. She wore a 
raw blue ribbon at her neck ; a sort of wholesome cheer- 
fulness shone from her. She looked about the room. 
“ She’s needin’ somebdy to pit things straight. I’ll no’ 
be long or’ll I’ll get the room cleaned. There’s nane but 


210 THE ROSE OF JOY 

myself noo to do a thing. My ither dochter, her as was 
Mistress Stair's laundry maid she said with curious 
emphasis, eying Susan, 44 she’s been deed in Americka 
these seven years. A maist respeckable woman, she was.” 

Her daughter laid back her head on the pillow with 
a look of relief. Susan rose to go. She laid down some 
things she had brought with her on the table, feeling 
very uncomfortable under the older woman’s hard stare, 
then said good-by, and hurried out of the house. 

She did not slacken her pace until she had left the 
% brick street far behind her, A wind had come up with 
the turn of the tide, and the freshened air was grateful. 
The town clock struck five. Shadows lengthened across 
the narrow, winding street. She came up to the door 
of their own house and passed through the hall into the 
garden. The turf was newly cut there, the walks swept, 
the air full of delicious scents. Dally was sitting smok- 
ing on the garden seat; he had come back early. 

44 What is the matter, Sue? You’re as white as your 
gown,” he said, taking her hand. 64 Why did you go out 
and walk and tire yourself in this heat? ” 

Susan sat down beside him and told him where she had 
been. 

“Well?” said Dally, when she had finished. He 
smoked away and did not look up. 

44 1 wish that I had died when I was a child when 
I see things like that, so that I should just have known 
the world, and seen the sun, and been alive, and never 
learned any more,” said Susan more passionately than 
she ever spoke in general. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 211 
“ Rahab hid the spies,” said Dally without looking up. 
“ Oh, it’s not that ! ” said Susan. “ Don’t think I’m 
thinking we are better than they, but it’s all ugly and 
dreadful. Oh, the poor, poor, Dally!” 

“ It’s not so bad,” began he consolingly. 44 They’ve 
joys we don’t know, Sue. Well, 4 joys ’ is too ethereal a 
word perhaps, but I’m sure they have. I understand 
some of ’em, too,” he added reflectively. 44 They eat, 
and drink till they’re drunk, and work, and sleep, and 
hunger, and thirst, and all the rest of it, and then they’re 
dead, and there’s an end of it, and none of the fears and 
scruples and splittings of hairs that we go on with.” He 
looked up suddenly at Susan’s pale face, set in thought, 
with dark circles under the blue eyes. 44 What are you 
thinking about now, Sue? ” 

Susan lifted her eyelids, then hid her face for a mo- 
ment on his shoulder. 44 1 w r as thinking about . . . 

your son, who is to be the prig, Dally,” she said. 

Dally took her hands in his ; he said nothing. They 
sat quiet for a few minutes. 

44 There is nothing new under the sun,” said Dally at 
last, raising himself with a sigh. 44 1 suppose — well, I 
wonder if it’s possible that my father felt like this?” 
He sighed again, and then laughed. 


CHAPTER XXX 

T HE winter seemed to pass very quickly to Susan. 

She was surrounded by an atmosphere of ap- 
proval. Old Mrs. Stair became positively bland. 
44 Dally has good in him somewhere,” she said. 44 A 
child of his own will steady him more than anything.” 

44 Steady me ! ” echoed Dally, to whom she made this 
remark in a very slightly modified form. 44 I’ll never 
smile again, I believe; but it will please my poor old 
father.” 

When Susan saw the intensity with which the whole 
Stair family desired that her child should be a boy she 
felt alarmed. 

44 Girls are all very well in their way,” said Dally. 
44 But, dearest, you can’t get into your head how un- 
necessary it would be just now.” 

Mrs. Stair’s whole soul was set upon one thing, by 
whatever sacrifice or painful economy. The old bleak 
house, the flat, unlovely lands she loved with a passion 
that seemed extraordinary to Susan. Even the brewery 
would be forgiven, if it became the means of paying off 
the encumbrances on the estate and enabling Dally, and 
his son after him, to keep Striven. 

Of this tradition Mrs. Crawford’s guileless mind had 
no trace. 44 I’m sure,” she said, 44 you will find a girl 
less trouble, Susan. Boys are so expensive. Alec’s edu- 
cation has cost more than you and Emmy and the little 
212 


CHAPTER THIRTY 213 

ones all put together ; but red hair is always a drawback 
to a girl, you may say what you like,” she concluded. 

Emmy’s sprained ankle, aggravated by her pursuit of 
the hens, had got so bad that the little girl was quite 
lame, so Susan took her down to St. Fortunes for a 
while. This appeared to Emily very gay and delight- 
ful. She had not yet made a practice of being tidy, but 
conclusive efforts every now and then seemed to promise 
amendment. Susan was very happy, sitting beside her 
in the garden, or as she lay on the square sofa in the 
long, blue-spotted drawing room when Mrs. Murchison 
was out. 

44 I think,” said Emmy, 44 that nothing is quite right at 
home since you went away, Sue. Things are always in 
such a muddle. I wish you would soon come back again.” 

44 But, love, when one is married, one can’t go back — 
to anyone.” 

44 Why not? ” said Emmy. 

44 Because it’s your duty to stay with your husband.” 

44 But Dally doesn’t seem to need you so much as we do, 
Susan?” Susan could not contradict this. 44 It does 
seem odd,” pursued Emily, 44 that you should just in 
such a short time love Dally so much better than all of 
us.” 

44 I don’t, dearest,” Susan began. 44 At least things 
are quite different. You ought to love your husband 
more than anyone else.” 

44 Do you suppose now, Susan,” the child went on, 
44 that Aunt Jane just all at once loved Uncle Murchison 
better than anyone else in all the world? ” 


214 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

44 I suppose so, Emmy.” 

44 Seems a little queer to choose him said Emmy pen- 
sively, “ and that nobody should have liked to marry 
Colonel Hamilton, who is so nice.” 

44 But, Emmy, you don’t know that. People do not 
speak about these things.” 

44 Well, he’s not been married anyway, and he is much 
nicer than Uncle Murchison. Did Aunt Jane know him, 
too, when she was young? ” 

44 Yes, I think she did.” 

44 Then why did she not marry him? ” persisted 
Emmy. 

44 Oh, child ! ” said Susan, laughing, 44 you don’t un- 
derstand these things. Anyone can’t just marry anyone 
else in that way.” 

44 Why not, Sue? ” 

44 Oh, so many things prevent it. Circumstances — 
and tastes — and fate,” Susan ended foolishly. 

44 What’s fate?” asked Emily, snapping up the new 
word. 

Susan looked at her and sighed. 44 I do not know, 
Emmy. Something that causes things to happen without 
our will.” 

44 Oh ! ” said Emmy. She reflected a moment, then 
said, 44 Did you ever see anyone you would have liked 
fate to make you marry except Dally ? ” 

44 Emmy, you should not say such things.” 

44 Well, you said so. I think Dally was quite delight- 
ful. I hope fate won’t make me marry anyone like Uncle 
Murchison — anyone with a beard at all,” she added. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


P I AHERE’S too much fuss made about the mat- 
ter now,” said Mrs. Stair in her harsh voice. 
“ She’s well, of course, and the baby’s well. 
What else would a sensible woman be? ” 

“ I wonder — I suppose Susan wouldn’t be able to see 
me, just for a moment? I am an old friend,” said Miss 
Mitford. She had driven over to Striven to inquire for 
Susan soon after the birth of her son. Mrs. Stair had 
received her grimly in the cold, half -furnished drawing 
room. Miss Mitford’s tender inquiries had been abruptly 
answered. 64 It was such a pity that her own mother, 
couldn’t be with her,” continued Miss Mitford, with as 
near an approach to a snap as she was capable of. 

44 A great blessing, to my mind,” said Mrs. Stair, un- 
abashed. (Mrs. Crawford’s presence at this juncture 
had been averted by an outbreak of measles at home.) 
Susan had come to Striven for the birth of the child 
rather against the wishes of her own people, but by so 
doing, although she would have been much more com- 
fortable at St. Fortunes, she had gained her mother-in- 
law’s heartiest approbation. Dally had gone away on 
business. 44 You can’t see her,” said Mrs. Stair. 44 She’s 
seen no one yet.” 

Miss Mitford was disappointed. She had risen to say 
good-by, when Kate, the eldest daughter, came into the 
room. 


215 


216 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ Susan has heard that you are here,” she said. u She 
would like you to come upstairs for a moment. She 
wants to show you her baby.” 

So the old lady was conducted upstairs into the 
“apple” room — just beginning to get dusk — where 
Susan lay in the four-post bed, and held out a thin, 
white hand to welcome her. 

“ He’s my own. He’s asleep just now. He has bright 
red hair,” said Susan, turning the child on her arm and 
looking up at Miss Mitford, with no attempt to conceal 
the rapture of affection in her face. 

The old lady was a little tearful. She blessed the 
mother, she blessed the child, and with kisses and fond 
speeches after a very few minutes went away. Susan 
lay still after she had gone. Again she saw herself hur- 
rying out of the house on that misty, damp afternoon. 
Again she stood in Miss Mitford’s arctic parlor, and 
longed with an agony of longing for the safe harbor of 
old maidenhood that it all represented. She remembered 
that walk home, every step of it; the struggle against 
the wet wind; the fine rain blown up from the sea; the 
wet leaves glistening in the field; the raw odor of the 
turnips; the wild sense of something inevitable closing 
in around her ; how she sat in the garden and wished the 
morrow would never come; how Archie Hamilton had 
looked standing in the dusk at the orchard door. Again 
she felt the gentle warmth that ran up her chilled body 
when she wrapped his coat about her ; how he walked be- 
side her through the long, miry lane; how piteously her 
heart had cried out for some help as he parted from her 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 217 
at the gate. “ Let love be without dissimulation,” he 
had said. She turned and looked again at the little 
thing that lay beside her, listened to its tiny snortling 
breath, put a finger into its half-closed velvet hand, 
smoothed the soles of its soft feet, and hugged it against 
her heart, sighing with the burden of her love. 

44 There need be nothing but truth between us, my 
own,” she whispered. 44 Nothing ever that is not true.” 

She looked up again at the firelight fluttering upon 
the apple-embroidered hangings and the fluted, slender 
pillars of the bed. 

44 They are like the stems of very straight young 
trees,” she thought. 44 1 shall put a bed in a picture 
with pillars like young trees.” 

The house seemed very quiet, till at last a door banged 
down below; then she heard the old dog’s hoarse bark 
change into quick snaps of joy, and in a minute Kate 
opened the door again. 

44 Dally has come, Susan. Do you think you are able 
to see him now?” 

44 Oh, yes, yes ! ” Susan turned round, and lay look- 
ing at the door as Dally entered. He had been riding 
in the cold, and a breath of it seemed to follow him in. 
He bent down an icy cheek to kiss her, but Kate pulled 
him back. 

44 Don’t, your face is too cold ! ” she cried. Susan 
laughed, and gave him her hands to kiss instead. 

44 1 wish you would go away, Kate ; you embarrass 
me,” he said, looking over his shoulder. Kate smiled 
patiently and went away. 


218 THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ Come round and look at him,” said Susan, moving 
the baby on her arm. Dally walked round to the other 
side of the bed, and stood looking, then touched it curi- 
ously with one finger. 

“ It isn’t at all so ugly,” he said. “ It’s just sweet — 
such a newly-arrived just-beginning kind of thing. Oh, 
Susan ” — tears started suddenly in his quick, gray eyes 
and choked his voice — “ it’s made out of you and me, 
and it’s quite different from either of us. Susan, I wish 
I could begin to be good before it can understand.” 

“ Yes, Dally, we’ll both begin, and try hard,” said 
Susan, smiling at him, and holding out her handkerchief 
to wipe his eyes. 

“ Eh, gracious ! How soft it is ! ” he called next 
minute, putting the palm of his hand on the baby’s head. 
“ It’s just like velvet, Susan. Did you ever feel any- 
thing like it? 

“ ‘ Say , have you felt the fur of the heaver , 

Or swan’s down ever ? ’ ” 


He came and stood at the foot of the bed, with his 
hands hanging over the end of it, in one of his oddly 
graceful attitudes. 

“ You look sort of ‘ newly washed in a shower,’ Sue — 
so interesting. Your eyes are quite dramatic. Did you 
feel very bad, my poor girl ? I suppose it’s rather awful. 
Did you think you were going to die? ” 

\ our mother told me people made far too much fuss 
nowadays. I found her very bracing,” said Susan. 

“ What did you think about? ” 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 219 

“ Really, Dally, I don’t know. I was enduring, not 
thinking. I tried to be brave to please your mother. I 
did think about you.” 

“ Oh, did you, you dear? ” He looked highly pleased, 
then continued, “ I had such a horrible dream that night 
in London. I dreamt it was a girl, and somehow things 
seemed to go on and on, more girls and more — you know 
the way they do in dreams — till I saw all my five sisters, 
and they were all my daughters too. I can tell you I 
wakened quite cold. What do they give you to eat? 
Nice food, I hope?” 

“ Yes, quite nice,” said Susan, smiling. “ They are 
very good to me.” 

“ Well, I hope so. The fowls here are too muscular 
for me, but you’re very uncomplaining.” 

Kate entered at this moment with a cup on a tray. 
Dally took it from her and peered at it. 

“ What’s that? ” 

“ Give it to me, Dally ; I’m hungry,” said Susan, 
laughing. 

“ Is it good? ” he asked. 66 Looks so like the paste we 
use at the office.” 

“ Go downstairs,” said Susan. 

“ 1 met Archie Hamilton,” said Dally, standing in the 
doorway, turning back to speak. “ Heard him speak, 
you know, with Maurice Hamilton. He did look rather 
fine, like Milton’s Satan — before the fall, though.” 

“ Go away, do, and leave Susan to eat her supper,” 
said Kate, pushing him away. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


W HEN Susan was just beginning to go about 
again, one day Juliet Clephane came to see 
her. She was staying with other people in the 
neighborhood, and arrived unexpectedly one afternoon. 
Susan took her upstairs to see the baby, which was be- 
ginning existence in a bleak attic named 44 the nursery,” 
under the charge of a grim old woman. Susan was long- 
ing to return to St. Fortunes now, but Mrs. Stair would 
not let her leave Striven till after Christmas, she said. 

Juliet looked at Susan curiously, as she stood in the 
nursery with the tiny red-headed baby in her arms. 

64 I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Susan, and it’s 
entirely for your sake that I’m doing it. I am going to 
offer to come here for a week, if Mrs. Stair will have me.” 

46 You — you won’t be very comfortable,” said Susan, 
smiling. 

44 Of course I won’t ! I know that only too well. I 
once stayed here when I was fifteen, and I had to put the 
hearthrug on my bed at night, and that wasn’t enough, 
so I slept in an astrakhan jacket I had too. But I think 
you will be the better of a change of ideas, so I am com- 
ing, if they will have me.” 

44 Oh, the sight of you, Juliet, and your pretty dresses, 
and everything about you, does me good — and DalW 
likes it so much, too.” 


220 


CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 221 

“ Don’t mind Dally,” said Juliet, looking at her curi- 
ously. “ You haven’t known him as long as I have. He’s 
made like that, and he can’t help it.” 

“ I don't mind — now,” said Susan. She flushed a 
little as she spoke, looking straight at Juliet. “ At first, 
I think, I wished I were lovely, like you ; but I got over 
that.” 

Juliet came the following Monday — a frosty after- 
noon, when all the ground in front of the house was cov- 
ered with white rime, and there was a sad, faint pink 
sunset above the turnip fields to the west. Dally had met 
her at the station. They walked together to the door, 
Juliet, holding up her skirts with both hands, stepping 
daintily on the slippery ground, Dally walking by her 
side, adoring. She came like a rose into the bare, cold 
apartment where the family were assembled. Her height, 
her plump face with its exquisite carnation color, her 
bright hair, her soft voice, even her clothes — the sweep 
of her hat brim, the furs she wore, the huge muff she 
carried, the glimpses of color like the inner petals of a 
flower, the faint scent of her garments — all combined to 
make her seem a denizen of another world altogether from 
her five bleak, shabby cousins. Susan sat beside her 
while she talked to old Mrs. Stair, and watched her with 
an expression of fond delight in her beauty. 

Juliet’s teeth chattered with cold when she was left 
alone in one of the gaunt bedrooms, where the cold 
chimney sent down volleys of acrid smoke from a newly 
lighted wood fire, which diffused a scarcely perceptible 
warmth that could not conquer the icy draughts from the 


222 THE ROSE OF JOY 

floor and paneling. But she was a brave visitor, and 
came blooming down to dinner, and ate as if she enjoyed 
it, and smiled and talked and made the whole room bright. 

Susan came into her room after the others had gone 
to bed. They heard in the distance the wheels of the old 
man’s chair squeaking dismally along the uncarpeted 
corridor. Juliet had coaxed up the fire to a blaze. She 
knelt on the rug in her dressing gown, her long hair 
hanging over one shoulder. 

“ Come in, Susan ; I’m warming myself a little now. 
I’ve got plenty of warm things, thank you. I made 
preparations as if for an Arctic winter — indeed, a sleep- 
ing sack would be the only thing one could be warm in 
here. Oh, you’ve got him with you! Give him to me, 
the dear sweet.” 

She took the ugly baby from Susan’s arms, and 
rocked and fondled it, bending her laughing face above 
it, and kissing it till it crowed. “ It’s just a hideous 
darling, isn’t it, with its little red, red head — such an 
ugly dear.” 

She stopped laughing and looked up at Susan, who 
was sitting rather wearily in the big chair at the side of 
the fire. “ You’re tired, Sue — or distressed? ” 

“No. I am so glad to see you. Oh, so glad! ” said 
Susan, with a sudden foolish quavering in her voice. 

Juliet jumped up and placed the baby on Susan’s lap, 
then knelt in front of her, her rosy dressing-gown fall- 
ing open, showing a confusion of frills and laces about 
her white neck, her eyes luminous with feeling. 

“ Of course, I know ; yes, of course, I understand. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 223 
You are glad to see a girl again — someone from the 
‘ country you came from ’ sort of thing, not one of those 
overly much married nine-and-ten-children-perpetual- 
nursery-talk sort of women that have been with you all 
this time. If I were you I would leave the whole thing 
— baby and all — and go away and get some new clothes, 
and forget, and enjoy myself.” 

Susan shook her head with downcast eyes. She watched 
the child, then answered gravely, “ Clothes are of no 
use to comfort me, Juliet. They are a talent by them- 
selves — that I have not got. Perhaps when we go back 
to St. Fortunes I may be able, if my baby is quite well, 
to arrange my days a little better, so that I have time for 
the things I wish to do, so that I can paint a little.” She 
spoke the last words very low. 

“Paint!” echoed Juliet, wringing her long hair 
through her hands, and looking at it as it shone in the 
firelight. “ Well, I envy you if that would make you 
happy; but it wouldn’t,” she added, looking up. 

“ What would your idea of happiness be? ” asked 
Susan, smiling indulgently at her. 

“Mine? Oh, you wouldn’t believe it!” said Juliet, 
suddenly turning her face away as if it were scorched 
by the fire. “ It’s too unsuitable, too unlike me. Be- 
sides, Susan, he will not care for me a bit. I know that 
quite well. I do not know why I mind; it’s a sort of 
Naboth’s vineyard business. I have so many . 
lovers, but I just want this one because he does not want 
me. Besides, people shouldn’t marry their first cousins, 
I believe.” 


224 THE ROSE OF JOY 

By the time the speech was ended her face was hidden 
on Susan’s knee. Susan put her thin, white hand on the 
soft hair, and stroked it without speaking. Her face 
was painfully strained; her eyes were full of unshed 
tears. 

“ I think it is late; I must go. You will catch cold 
sitting up here,” she said, recovering herself with an 
effort. “ I must take my little son back to the nursery; 
he is sound asleep.” 

“ Well, I’m not able to talk about art to you, Susan, 
but at least I haven’t had ten children, and I don’t speak 
about babies all the time. Do resist that; it grows so 
on people that are good in country places.” 

Susan laughed, and went away looking bright enough, 
but Juliet, as she went shuddering about her toilet in 
the cold room, remarked to herself, “ How could she do 
it? It’s only a woman with that sort of goodness that 
would ever have married Dally — married Dally Stair.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

D ALLY had to go to St. Fortunes every day, re- 
turning to Striven in the evening. One day he 
had been in Edinburgh, and came back rather 
later than usual. He walked up to the house, briskly 
whistling as he went. The old dog lumbered up to meet 
him, shaking with joy. They made a great noise to- 
gether — the grunts and barks of the dog, Dally whistling 
and clapping him, and Daily’s footsteps crunching 
cheerily on the frozen gravel. Suddenly, out of the 
house — the door stood open — came Juliet, bareheaded, 
with only a cloak thrown across her shoulders, with her 
white hands stretched out, and her face all pale and 
tender. She was so beautiful and so grievous-looking 
that the man stood still in astonishment. 

“Hush! oh, do hush, Dally, dear! Down, Jock, be 
quiet.” She laid her hands on Daily’s arm, and with 
tears and a choking voice said to him right out, “ Oh, 
Dally, it’s so sad ! Your poor little baby is dead.” 

The young man stood still and looked at her, his face 
taking on its green, unbecoming pallor, his voice gone. 

“ Come,” said Juliet gently, leading him forwards, 
“ you must come and see your wife. Susan loved it so, 
Dally. Oh, think about her — you must help her. It 
got ill in the morning,” she went on, still urging him 
towards the door, “ and we sent to St. Fortunes, but you 
225 


226 THE ROSE OF JOY 

were gone to town ; and we got the doctor and did every- 
thing, but it just died in about an hour. Susan is in 
the nursery now. Go up, Dally.” 

“ Won’t you come? I don’t know what to say,” said 
Dally helplessly. 

“ Say, man! Say to your own wife about your own 

child! Oh, Dally, you’re ” began Juliet, then 

turned suddenly, and left him alone without another 
look. 

Dally walked slowly along the darkened passage. He 
stood at the door for a moment and listened. There 
was no sound. He opened the door timidly and went 
in; there was a light in the room and a fire. Susan sat 
beside the child’s cot. It struck him as strange that she 
was sewing something — just as she usually sat there and 
sewed. She turned just a trifle when he came in, and let 
her hands fall on her lap. Dally was acutely sensitive. 
He winced before the dry pain in Susan’s eyes, as before 
a sight too horrible for him. 

“ My poor darling ! ” he said, coming up, and putting j 
his arm about her. 

Susan made no response. She leant forwards slightly, 
and uncovered the child’s face. 

“ It’s dead, you see,” she said. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” sighed Dally, tears running down his 
face. 

He stood and held her hand, and looked down at the 
little cot. It was an ugly little baby — dead — with its 
red hair and its twisted face — old now with the wisdom of 
a thousand ages in the stamp of death. Susan looked 


CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 227 
down at it, dry-eyed. Dally tried to comfort her; she 
listened to him in silence. He coaxed her to come down- 
stairs, and eat, and rest. She just looked at him, and 
shook her head. 

“ Can’t you leave me alone? ” she said at last, in a 
tone that no one would have known for hers. 

Dally dropped her limp hand and went sorrowfully 
out of the room. Susan refused to see anyone all the 
next day. 

On the morning of the melancholy little funeral she 
sat in the nursery alone. She held the coffin — not a 
yard long — on her knees. She was not crying wildly, 
but large, slow tears fell on it one by one. Dally came 
and looked into the room, and went away again without 
speaking. 

“ I can’t do it,” he said, hiding his face with his hand. 

Then Juliet came in by herself, in a black dress, with 
her sweet face pale with sympathy. She stood beside 
Susan and held out her arms. 

“Won’t you give him to me, Susan? I’ll carry it 
down myself. I will be very gentle — as if it were my 
own.” 

She smiled through her tears, holding her arms out 
like a mother to a child, and Susan rose, placed the little 
coffin in her arms, and then flung herself down across 
the empty cradle without another look. 

“ Leave her by herself — do not go again till it is all 
over,” said Juliet. 

She herself was very silent, sitting in the carriage 
with Kate and Dally. When it was all over and they 


228 THE ROSE OF JOY 

had come home, Dally sat down by the library table and 
leant his head on his arms and wept. Juliet brought 
him some tea. She stood beside him and coaxed him to 
drink it. She had taken off her hat, and stood with her 
long coat thrown open, her face still pale and charming 
in its sweetness. Then Dally bent his head, and rubbed 
the hem of her coat with his lips ; life was beginning to 
return to him. 

“ It comforts me,” he said, “ to think that I ever loved 
a creature as beautiful as you.” 

Juliet did not move or draw herself away. She stood 
looking down at him. 

“ I think,” she said at last, “ that there must be some- 
thing very bad about me. I seem to make other people 
so foolish.” 

Dally flushed to the roots of his red hair. 

“ I — I must go and see poor Susan,” he said, rising. 

“ Poor Susan ! ” repeated Juliet softly, looking at him. 

But when he went upstairs Susan lay still on her bed 
with her face hidden. She held out a cold hand to him 
and thanked him for coming, and asked him to go away 
again. The food that had been brought to her was un- 
tasted on the table. She wanted nothing, she said — she 
was not cold. Dally threw a covering over her and went 
downstairs disconsolate. His mother, who had been all 
day with her husband, met him and asked how Susan 
was. 

“ She will not speak to me, or eat, or cry,” said Dally. 
“ I do not like to leave her, but she told me to go away.” 

Mrs. Stair marched up to Susan’s room. She came 


CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 229 
in and stood by the bed and looked at the figure huddled 
upon it, with hidden face. 

“ Have you had nothing to eat all day, Susan? ” she 
said at last. 

“ I’m not hungry, thank you.” 

“ Oh ! ” 

Susan raised herself at the sound of the dry, harsh 
voice. She turned on her pillow and looked up at her 
mother-in-law’s gaunt, stern face. 

“ Susan,” said Mrs. Stair — she was a woman who 
never used an endearment — “ be thankful if you never 
have more to sorrow for than you have to-day.” She 
paused, and a glitter came into her faded gray eyes. 
“ You never saw my eldest son — Daily’s brother. I was 
proud when he was born.” Her voice failed for a mo- 
ment. She coughed and went on : “I lived to wish he 
had never been born. Woman,” she said, speaking with 
a sudden desperate passion that made Susan thrill, “ the 
tears you weep to-day are as different from those I have 
wept as drops of balm from tears of blood. . . . He died 
at twenty-four; and see what his father is now.” 

Susan put out her hands and took Mrs. Stair’s hand 
and held it close. 

“ Come, get up and dry your eyes,” said Mrs. Stair. 
“ I will come to the nursery with you now — to-night — 
and help you to put away the child’s things. Don’t put 
it off till to-morrow. Bless me, my girl! I know what 
you feel. Come, come with me now.” 

Susan rose to her feet, pale and faint with grief and 
want of food. They went together to the nursery. 


230 THE ROSE OF JOY 

She came downstairs that evening and had dinner, and 
sat with the others afterwards. The next day she went 
about as usual. 

“ There will be another some day,” said Dally to her 
by way of simple comfort. 

“ Perhaps, another she answered; and Dally needed 
not to be told that he had said the wrong word. 

He found her working away at a little picture in her 
own room soon afterwards. Susan covered it up and 
would not let him look. He saw it later. It was a sad 
Madonna, sitting enthroned amidst a waste of snow. 
Her head was bent, and the shadow of her hood hid the 
face, but she held or her lap a little, ugly baby, with red 
hair. There was a terrible love in the way her arms 
were about it; and a leafless tree behind, from its bare 
arms, stretched a shadow like a cross upon the snow. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


D ALLY, for a while, was really sad. He tried 
his every art to console Susan. He went and 
came from St. Fortunes dutifully as long as she 
remained at Striven, and Mr. Murchison was even heard 
to exclaim, “ We’ll make a business man of him yet.” 
Towards the end of April, however, this fit of virtue 
began to pall. He told Susan that he must have a little 
amusement. 

“ As much, that’s to say, as a wretched beast of a 
brewer, who hasn’t a penny in the world, and has a wife 
and five sisters dependent upon him, can have,” he said. 

He begged Susan to come with him to London, to 
Paris, were it even for a fortnight; but Mr. Stair was 
very ill, and Mrs. Stair getting worn out with nursing, 
so Susan would not leave them, and Dally persuaded 
Mr. Murchison to grant him a brief reprieve and went 
off by himself. 

“ You can forget in six weeks,” said Susan, allowing 
herself a moment of bitterness. 

“ It’s nearly ten weeks, Sue,” was Daily’s reproach- 
ful reply, and she was sorry that she had spoken. Habit 
was teaching her (as it always does) when to ask Dally 
to understand her and when never to expect it. She was 
touched by his tenderness to her, and angry with herself 
for having asked for what was not in his nature. 

231 


232 THE ROS-E OF JOY 

Old Mrs. Stair had felt the baby’s death more than 
anyone. It made a bond between her and Susan that, 
without words, was very strong. 44 It meant so much to 
me,” was all she said to her daughter-in-law, but that 
little sentence meant more to Susan than all Mrs. Craw- 
ford’s facile tears. 

Dally stayed away more than a fortnight, and, Mr. 
Stair having revived again, Susan returned to St. For- 
tunes. Mrs. Stair stood in her coal-scuttle bonnet and 
waved a grim adieu from the doorway as she drove away. 
On the road to the station they passed by the church. 
Carrie had gone with Susan, and at the corner of the 
road she noticed her bend forward and look back. 

44 What is it, Susan? ” she asked. 

Susan pointed mutely to the churchyard wall, and 
Carrie’s tender spinster heart was wrung. 

44 Life is so strange, Carrie,” said Susan, after a 
minute, speaking low between the rumbling and jolting 
of the old carriage. 44 I came here with so much hope, 
and now I leave it all behind.” 

Carrie simply murmured something about 44 Loved and 
lost.” 

44 Oh,” said Susan, 44 not quite! It seems to me just a 
false venture of the soul, Carrie. One thinks always 4 in 
this or in that I will find happiness.’ I’ve thought it 
about other things before .... and then one sets 
sail towards it with such a cargo of hopes, and has just 
to come back again foiled. I thought, I hoped, that in 

my love for my son ” She paused and looked away 

past Carrie, out across the bright spring fields towards 


CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 233 
the long narrow line of the sea that lay bright as a 
drawn sword in the distance. “ Oh, I hoped so much. 
I thought he would be such a brave man, and do so much 
in the world, and make some woman so happy some day 
. . . . my soul went on such a long voyage then, and 

came back with nothing.” 

This was a little beyond Carrie, who listened with tears 
of sympathy gathering in her inexpressive eyes. She 
did wonder how, after this, Susan, as they stood together 
waiting for the train, could find such a keen delight in 
the purple on the necks of the station-master’s pigeons, 
and why she looked back with a very bright smile to her 
as the train left the platform. Carrie on her way home 
reflected on these things. 64 Minna says all artistic peo- 
ple are so volatile,” she thought, sensible that the word 
was not descriptive of Susan, but she could find nothing 
better. 

44 Well, Susan, I’m glad to see you back again,” was 
Mrs. Murchison’s greeting. 44 You look all eyes and 
mouth still, but you’ll soon lose that. There’s a letter 
from Dally for you upstairs.” 

Mrs. Murchison made no allusion to the child’s death. 
Her cook was making marmalade, and she immediately 
took Susan downstairs to help. In the unromantic occu- 
pation Susan for the moment forgot her cares. She 
read Daily’s letter by snatches, amidst the smell of bitter 
oranges and boiling sugar. 

In Daily’s absence she had more time to herself, and 
she spent the most of the day painting in the orchards. 
As the spring advanced the merry, beautiful, blossoming 


234 THE ROSE OF JOY 

time made every morning a sort of paradise to Susan. 
Then, for a brief season, the bleak landscape about the 
little old town was flushed with an unearthly beauty. 
Pink and white are difficult things to deal with, and 
Susan, who executed a great quantity of work, and 
looked back on it very little, found that the difficulty 
imperceptibly drew her away from her own sad thoughts. 
She had been working for more than a week at one pic- 
ture — scarcely even caring to eat, so anxious was she to 
catch and express her thought before the whole thing 
vanished. In her queer holland overall she sat all day 
long, under a very thick black holly tree, in the inner 
garden, and painted as if for her very life. Mr. Mur- 
chison was much distressed, and would fain have got her 
away; offered daily to do anything he could, take her 
into town. 

“ Go to any hotel you like, my dear ; I’ll take you to 
the theater every night,” he would say encouragingly, 
and Susan would lift blue, dreamy eyes to him, and smile 
her kind, bright smile, and shake her head. 

“ Don’t you see, it’s her way of consoling herself? 
Just let her alone,” said her aunt, who understood better. 
“ Her poor father was just that kind of person too, in 
his own way,” she added. 

In the early morning, before the dew was dry, when 
she went out into the spice-scented air, and heard the 
merry, shouting birds, and fancied that a new inspiration 
waited for her amongst the shadows in every alley of the 
orchards, Susan lifted up her eyes again to the light. 
To every heart its own bitterness; also its own path of 


CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 235 
recovery. The spring season came to her like a god- 
send — as new and fresh as if she had never been alive 
in May before. 

She was sitting one afternoon laboring away as usual 
in her usual place, her face flushed with heat and streaked 
with blue paint, her hair very untidy, and an old hat 
drawn over her eyes, when her aunt brought out Colonel 
Hamilton and another elderly man whom Susan did not 
know. 

She hurriedly covered up her picture and turned to 
greet them. 

“ I have brought a friend of mine to see you, Susan,” 
said Colonel Hamilton. He mentioned a name that 
Susan knew quite well. It made her look at the little 
shaflby-looking man with childlike respect. “ I want 
you to show him some of your pictures.” 

Susan demurred for an instant, and then very timidly 
moved aside and let him look. 

“ H’m, yes,” he grunted, and made one or two obser- 
vations about it, looking up every now and then at the 
young woman as he spoke. 

They sat on the garden bench for some time after- 
wards, talking about other things. When Colonel Ham- 
ilton rose to go, the other man came round by Susan’s 
work. 

“ How much would you take for this, Mrs. Stair? ” 
he grunted suddenly. 

“ I don’t quite understand,” said Susan, startled. 

“ I want to buy it — I mean that. Will you sell it? ” 
he said, looking at her quickly again. 


236 THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ 1 ? I never thought of such a thing ! ” 

“ More fool you, Mrs. Stair. Will you do it? ” 

“ Oh, no, thank you ! I couldn’t. My husband would 
not like it, I think,” said Susan ; then she looked up at 
him frankly. “ I never thought my work was worth 
anything at all. I do not think it is.” 

“ So much the better. Well, tell me if you ever do,” 
he grunted, turning away. 

When Susan told Dally on his return he roared with 
laughter. 

“ You may do it if you like, of course, but I do not 
fancy myself supported by my wife. Do, dearest, if 
you want to, and buy yourself a necklace.” 

“ Oh, Dally ! your one idea of a woman is a necklace ! ” 
“ Well, yes, of some women. I suppose you’d rather 
give it to your mother — not the necklace, the money, I 
mean.” 

“ Yes, much rather. I’d like to give her 99 

“ Some new hair? ” suggested Dally softly. 

“ I’ll give it to Alec — he needs some money so much,” 
said Susan. 

This sudden intrusion of a pleasant and practical 
thought brightened her up very much. It was not the 
money, but the miracle of the touch of her thought turn - 
ing into gold that attracted her. She felt like someone 
who handles a new weapon for the first time. 


CHAPTER XXXV 

I N the course of the summer it was suddenly an- 
nounced that Carrie Stair was going to marry a 
curate. 

“ That’s just the flat fact, Susan,” said Dally, “ and 
you needn’t try to be mystical over it ; it’s not romance, 
nor love, nor anything interesting, but just marriage. 
Carrie is not you ; he’s a little crawling thing ; but she’s 
going to marry a curate, and for my part I think she’s 
quite wise.” 

He stood looking at Susan with great amusement. She 
had just received Carrie’s letter and sat on the garden 
bench with her hands folded on her lap. Dally regarded 
her with pleasure. The blue cotton frock she wore 
suited her very well. He thought she was really a very 
pleasant person to look at now. His admiration for 
Susan was of a curiously mixed quality ; at some points 
it approached almost to awe, as he would have ex- 
pressed it. 

“ Well,” he continued, “ can’t you understand it at 
all? Have you lived to be twenty-five, is it, and don’t 
grasp the fact of marriage yet, Susan? You’re not ex- 
pecting passion between Carrie and a curate, are you? ” 
“ Oh, Darnley ! ” 

“ 6 Oh, Darnley ! ’ Whenever I come near the truth 
about anything, Susan, you sheer away and say, 4 Oh, 

237 


238 THE ROSE OF JOY 

Darnley, you shouldn’t speak like that.’ Marriage, m} T 
dear, is a matter of arrangement; love is — well, I don’t 
pretend to know quite; passion’s the very devil,” he 
added, grinding his heel into Mr. Murchison’s carefully 
kept turf as he spoke ; “ not that you know anything 
about it, dearest,” he continued. 

Susan looked up at him steadily. “ How do you know 
that? ” 

Dally was alert in an instant. He sat down beside 
her, sinking to the confidential. “ Do tell me, Susan, 
When? How? I should so like to know.” 

“ We are probably speaking of different things, 
Dally.” 

“ Oh, very likely ; but you have such an imagination, 
Sue; everything you touch is illuminated; that’s why 
I want you to tell me — only don’t expect it in Carrie and 
the curate.” 

Two days later Carrie arrived in person. Susan ran 
down to meet her when she saw the carriage come up 
the hill. Carrie had got a new beige dress and a cheap 
hat, rather raucous in coloring. ( “ It made her suggest 
a flamingo,” Dally whispered hurriedly, as he glanced 
at her from the window.) Her thin face was flushed 
with excitement. 

“ I felt I must come to see you, Susan ; you are always 
so sweet,” were her first words, from which Susan 
gathered that some of the Stair family had not been 
sweet to her. 

Susan took her out to sit in the garden, gave her a 
chair in the shade, with a cushion and a footstool, and 


CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 239 
talked a little about other matters, leaving her to cool 
down. Darnlej came out — it was Saturday afternoon 
— and sat on the grass at Susan’s knee, knocking the 
heads off the black 44 soldiers ” that grew by the 
hedge, and putting in a word chiefly when it was not 
wanted. 

44 Mr. Pewlitt wished to have come with me to-day,” 
Carrie began shyly. Dally gave a faint shudder, per- 
ceptible at Susan’s knee. 

44 I wish that you had brought him,” said Susan. 

44 He is not very good-looking,” Carrie went on. 
44 You must not expect too much; he is not quite so tall 
as I am.” 

44 My dear Carrie, no one expected you to marry an 
Apollo,” put in Dally. 

Carrie laughed nervously. 44 No, of course not, but 
Minna seemed to think him so very small.” 

44 Bulk is Minna’s ideal, you must remember.” 

44 Be quiet, Darnley,” said Susan, tapping his 
shoulder ; 44 you are interrupting Carrie.” 

44 Oh,” said Carrie, 44 I’m sure that you would like 
him, and get on with him, Susan ; he has such a beautiful 
mind. To him every item of the service is a symbol with 
a wonderful meaning.” 

44 Very good ; go on,” said Dally. 

44 Of course we won’t have very much money, but he 
says that he thinks a priest ought to be poor,” said 
Carrie, blushing. 

44 Curate,” said Dally, rising, 44 1 can stand ; when it 
comes to priest, I’m obliged to leave.” 


240 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

44 Dally doesn’t quite understand,” said Carrie, as her 
brother disappeared ; 44 1 felt sure that you would, 
Susan,” and she squeezed Susan’s hand, with eyes full of 
happy tears. 

44 Do I understand? ” thought Susan, as she sat and 
looked at her sister-in-law. Carrie, ten years her senior, 
made her feel so very old. Indeed, she looked very 
matronly and sweet beside the thin-faced, flurried woman. 
Carrie thought her fat, but she was only becomingly 
plump in reality. Did she 44 understand,” she wondered 
again, as after she had bidden Carrie good-by she 
watched her sink back in the carriage with faint, self- 
absorbed smile, doubtless to think about Mr. Pewlitt all 
the long way home. 

After Carrie’s departure Susan walked, slowly along 
one of the orchard paths to meet Dally, who said he 
would return that way. It was a hot July day without 
any sun. In the gardens and the orchards all the season 
of blossom and stir had gone past; a great rampart of 
elms, heavy with innumerable leaves, rose up against 
the placid dove-colored sky. The gardens before her 
were green : the grass was green : the young crops green 
in the summer fields : the hedges : the bushes on the walls 
— the whole world seemed steeped in one even, soft tint 
of color. Not a leaf flickered. There was hardly a 
variation in the low tone of the whole; the great trees 
almost courtesied to the earth under the weight of their 
green crown. It was all quiet, satisfying, complete; it 
entered Susan’s heart like a whisper at her ear. Could 
she fulfill her destiny in the world? Could she give her- 


CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 241 
self up to life in that way, and somehow realize in herself 
that placid growth and accomplishment, like those green 
apple trees beneath the tender sky. Their time of blos- 
som was over; their fruit was not ripe — might still be 
blasted before its time; but in the green, uneventful 
monotony of summer she read a lesson of something 
quieter than patience — of a larger acquiescence in the 
laws of life. She looked long till the harmonious 
monotony of the scene before her had soothed her very 
brain. Then she got up and went slowly on to* meet 
Dally, holding her hand tightly closed, in a childish 
way she had, as if she had caught something very pre- 
cious in it : the thought of the green gardens. 

“Marriage? Love? Carrie and her curate?” She 
turned the thoughts slowly over in her mind. “ Was it 
marriage, and not the man, that made Carrie’s happi- 
ness? Could it be that she found in him all that she 
imagined? What had her own marriage been? If she 
could go back and begin afresh, not for a thousand 
worlds would she do it over again, and yet what sort 
of an existence would she have had at home? Was not 
life with Dally better far than that? Is it all — all just 
entirely a delusion about love? she wondered. Wasn’t 
her feeling for her husband just as good as anything 
anyone ever got? How rich life would have been if her 
child had lived ! If she had another child would she have 
the same hopes, and then just live to find that her child 
was no better than other people, and that 6 the glory 
and the dream’ had faded from that, too? Could she 
push aside her self, her own narrow circumstances, and 


242 THE ROSE OF JOY 

enter into something large and placid like the life of 

nature? ” 

She thought how she had grown older and changed 
since those dajrs at Linfield, when she first met Dally. 
How then she used to have so much time* it seemed, and 
room to think. Bewildering thoughts came over her, 
then, images so vivid that they seemed to be painted on 
the very vails of her room — sudden inquiries of the mind 
that seemed for the moment like bright tracks leading 
far into the infinite ignorance; but then her untrained 
intelligence, having no system or sequence of thought, 
would fail as suddenly, and all would be blank again. 
Here she was now surrounded with a network of new 
duties, and would she ever make anything out of 
that. . . . 

The sound of a step at her side startled her, and a 
hoarse voice at her ear said, “ Mistress Stair, Mistress 
Stair, will ye speak a minute ? ” 

Susan turned abruptly. She had been thinking so 
deeply that she was unaware of any presence near her. 
A barefooted woman had crept up the side of the wall 
on the pathway behind, and now stood close beside her. 
Susan gazed at her, startled and half afraid. The poor 
thing had a bundle in her hand, a child trotting behind 
her, a baby tied into a shawl at her back. The freckles 
all over her sunburnt face showed suddenly in its pallor. 
Susan recognized her in a minute. 

“Did you want to speak to me about something?” 
she asked pleasantly, turning to stand in the roadway 
and holding out a cool hand to the little boy, who came 


CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 243 
up and gazed at her. “ You are the woman I went to 
see one day in Brick Street? ” 

“ Yes, mem, jest that,” said the other woman softly. 
She sniffed and wiped her face with the corner of her 
shawl, glanced up the road and then down, then said 
in a hurried whisper, “ I thocht maybe I’d let ye know 
aforehand, Mistress Stair, she’s coming hame; she's no 
deid ava.” 

“ Who? I do not know what you are speaking about,” 
said Susan. 

“ She's no deid; she’s my good sister. Ye’ll maybe 
no have heard of her,” she went on ; “ she that was away, 
ye ken, in Americka.” 

“ And you thought that she was dead, did you? Are 
you not pleased to see her again ? ” Susan inquired. 

“ Mem,” the woman whispered, “ it’s no that. I 
thocht ye’d maybe like to know.” She paused. 

Dally at this moment came sharply round the corner 
of the orchard, walking towards them. 

The woman hitched the infant on her arm. “ I’m off 
the day,” she said. “ She’ll no keep me any mair. I’m 
off to a fairm place oor yonder.” 

“And do you take the children with you?” Susan 
asked. 

“ What else wad I do, mem ? Thank ye kindly,” she 
said, as Susan gave her some money. 

Dally came up, looking curiously at both of them. 
The woman pulled the child beside her and turned away. 

Susan stood looking after her. “ She is that poor 
thing we saw before, Dally. Do you remember? She 


244 THE ROSE OF JOY 

kept telling me something about someone that was com- 
ing home whom she had thought was dead. I couldn’t 
make out what she meant at all.” 

Dally was indifferent. He ran off upon Carrie and 
her hat and her curate till Susan forgot all about it too. 

“ I think that I found something beautiful here to-day, 
Dally,” she said, pausing again to look into the green 
garden. 

“ I should like,” said Dally, “ just to be an old maid 
like Carrie for one week to see how it feels. Perhaps 
I may try it in the next transmigration. Bah! there’s 
no fun to be got out of making jokes about a curate. 
It’s too common ; it’s so wearying of even Carrie to take 
one.” 

“ Peace wears a green gown” said Susan to herself. 
She was not listening. 

“ She does, does she? Yes, I believe you’re right. I 
see it, too,” said Dally, standing beside her looking at 
the trees. “ Mercy on us ! What would old Murchison 
and your aunt say if they could hear us just now? ” 


CHAPTER XXXVI 

M easles in the Crawford household (as un- 
fortunately in many others) was a prolonged 
ordeal. Although the first child had sickened 
early in February, it was the end of May before the last 
one finished with it. As she announced each fresh case 
Mrs. Crawford took a doleful pleasure in predicting the 
next. 

“ I should think that the very hens had had it by this 
time,” said Dally towards the end. 

Emily had it last of all. She was very ill, for she was 
growing fast and did not seem to gain strength. She 
was turning into a very pretty girl. With her soft dark 
eyes, her white skin, and long hair, she had a budding 
beauty far beyond Susan’s humbler charms. In autumn 
she caught cold again, and was so ill that Susan went 
back to Burrie Bush to nurse her. Dally had gone away 
on business, so she stayed for some time with her mother. 
It was very curious to be at home again, to listen to Mrs. 
Crawford’s vague remarks, dress and feed the children, 
and move about the house as she used to do. Alec, the 
eldest boy, was in Edinburgh at work in a lawyer’s office, 
and Dick had got the coveted appointment with the 
veterinary surgeon that so dismayed the Stairs. The 
younger children seemed to be growing like weeds — 
strong and uncared for — but Emily was developing into 
245 


246 THE ROSE OF JOY 

a much more capable young person. She went off by 
herself to stay at Linfield when Susan had to return to 
St. Fortunes, and soon began to write very cheerfully, 
and then, the best sign of all, ceased to write altogether, 
and Juliet reported that she was getting quite well again. 

Susan was startled by Daily’s appearance when he 
came back, a few days after her return. To her he 
looked five years older than when they had parted a few 
weeks before. He declared that he was not ill, and told 
her that he was 44 worried about business.” For a time 
he plunged into his work with a fervor that delighted 
Mr. Murchison, then seemed to do nothing but idle about 
— go off to Edinburgh for the day, and come back look- 
ing yellow and haggard. One evening in November 
Susan expected him back from town late in the afternoon. 
Mrs. Murchison was out, and Susan sat alone in the fire- 
light that only illuminated a section of the big room. 
Her back was to the door, and she leant her head against 
the back of the chair, calling out, 44 Is that you, Dally ? ” 
as someone entered behind her. 

44 No, Mrs. Stair; may I come in? ” said Archie Hamil- 
ton, who had opened the door, and stood at the end of the 
room in the shadow. 

Susan watched him with a quick appreciation of the 
effects of firelight on his face as he came up into the glow 
beside her. He had come from Linfield, and she wanted 
to ask him about Emily, so the slight difficulty that she 
always found in speaking to him wore quickly away. 
Perhaps the quiet of the hour, the sweet household sug- 
gestiveness of Susan sitting alone in the firelight there, 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 247 
made it easier. They talked for a long time, Susan feel- 
ing vaguely surprised at herself. She had never spoken 
quite in that way to anyone before. He lost his usual 
gravity, and she wondered that she had ever thought 
him hard and disagreeable. “ How one misjudges 
people if they do not exactly hit our own note,” she 
thought, and repenting of her uncharitableness, she was 
wonderfully gentle and sweet. Dally appeared in the 
middle of this after a wet walk from the station. He 
was very pale, his eyes gleamed in his face, and his coat 
was all wet. 

44 Where have you been, Darnley ? I expected you an 
hour ago,” said Susan. 

He hardly made any reply, greeted his cousin only 
with a grunt, and came and stood in front of the fire, 
holding up his head so that his face was in shadow. 

This was so unlike his usual behavior that Susan was 
startled. “We have been talking about very interesting 
things, Dally,” she began. 

44 Very likely,” said Dally without moving. 

“ Are you going to dine with Minna on Christmas 
Day P ” asked Archie. 

“ Yes, I believe we are,” said Susan. 

“ I suppose we must. Life’s bad enough without 
that,” groaned Dally. 

“ Why, what’s wrong with life to-day P ” asked Archie, 
as he rose to go. 44 Does it not come quite up to your 
expectations ? ” 

Dally murmured something almost inaudible, then he 
broke out, 44 Oh, it’s a vile, wretched, bad business alto- 


248 THE ROSE OF JOY 

gether, and the sooner we’re dead and the worms have 
eaten us the better. But, of course,” he added, stretch- 
ing himself up involuntarily, as he always did when they 
stood together, to reach his cousin’s extra half inch of 
stature, “ of course, superior people like you, Archie, 
‘ with clean hands and a pure heart,’ find things right 
enough.” 

Susan looked at him in surprise. Archie only laughed, 
and in a few minutes took his leave. Dally went down 
to the door with him and came back again into the half 
dark room in silence. 

“Your cousin was so interesting to talk to, Dally; 
I forgot that I had ever disliked him,” said Susan. 

“ I never liked him, and I never will,” said Dally, sit- 
ting down and taking Susan’s hand. “ Oh, Susan,” he 
said, “ why did you go and waste yourself upon a fool 
like me? ” 

“ You are in a very distressed mood to-night, Dally. 
What is the matter? ” 

“ Everything,” said Dally. But when Susan asked 
again “ everything ” had declined into “ nothing par- 
ticular.” “ Just the old woe o’ the world,” he said, try- 
ing to laugh her questions aside. 

Mrs. Bracebridge was having a family party on 
Christmas Day, and with great difficulty Susan had per- 
suaded Dally to go. They went in to Edinburgh two 
days beforehand. The Hamiltons were all in town too, 
so Susan was very happy to meet them again. Old Mrs. 
Stair was staying with her daughter, and Carrie and 
Mr. Pewlitt were coming to dinner. Susan was a very 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 249 
solvent to a family party, and though Minna took a 
rather contemptuous view of her as being a person with- 
out either wealth or position, she acknowledged that she 
was sweet and sensible and had 44 improved Dally a good 
deal.” This probably was because Dally, being in such 
abnormally low spirits, was much less talkative than 
usual. So Susan had to listen to Minna’s doubts about 
Carrie’s marriage, Mr. Pewlitt’s income, and their prob- 
able money difficulties ; then to listen to Carrie’s com- 
plaints about Minna’s irritating, unasked advice, her 
rude behavior to old Mrs. Pewlitt, and so on — all round 
each member of the family in turn. 

44 Artistic people never realize the common-sense view 
of things,” said Minna. 44 Still, Susan, you must 
see ” 

And, 44 Of course, Susan, you with your artistic nature 

cannot quite understand — but ” said Carrie. And 

Susan sat meekly under the artistic accusation, and lis- 
tened to both sides of the question, making peace as well 
as she could. 

44 Artistic ! ” said Mrs. Stair. 44 1 wish, Minna, that 
you were half as sensible.” 

44 You poor little mortal ! It’s well we’re only going 
to stay for two days; all those dull women would choke 
you,” said Daraley. He stood watching Susan just 
about ready to go downstairs to dinner on Christmas 
Eve. She was fastening the necklace he had given her 
on their marriage, and the clasp had stuck. 

44 Do it for me, Dally,” she said, bending her head. 
He stood for a moment with his hands about her pretty 


250 THE ROSE OF JOY 

throat, looking over her shoulder into the mirror in front 

of them. 

“ If I were .... say, hanged, Sue, would you come to 
the gallows with me? I believe you would.” 

“ You goose! ” began Susan, then raised her eyes to 
see a face in the mirror that she would scarcely have 
known was his. 

She turned back her head and looked up at him for 
a moment with her sweet eyes full of tears. 

Dally drew her face against him and kissed her again 
and again. “ Bless you, you sweet woman ! ” he said, 
and snapped the clasp of her necklet shut. 

“ We’re late; come, Dally. Are you tidy?” said 
Susan, conscious that an emotional moment was not suit- 
able just before Minna’s dinner party. 

“ Ugh ! ” said Dally. “ How dull it will be ! I would 
rather be hung ! 99 and they went downstairs together. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


I T was a family party such as eat together by the 
hundred at Christmas-time. Perhaps a trifle above 
the average in some parts, but ill-assorted for all 
that, as such gatherings must be when relationship, in- 
stead of inclination, has brought people together. 

Minna was richly dressed, prim, and smiling. She 
had Colonel Hamilton at her right hand. Old Mrs. Stair 
sat beside Tom Bracebridge at the foot of the table. 
She wore a very old gown — old silk, shiny at the seams, 
pieced in the skimpy skirt, trimmed with darned lace, 
the only handsome jewel she now possessed carefully 
disposed upon her bony neck. Her face, strongly lined, 
thin, with harsh features, and crowned with scant red 
hair, had yet a kind of dignity about it that made the 
featureless fatness of old Mrs. Bracebridge look common. 
That lady — gentle, pompous, and dull — sat beside Dally, 
who paid very little heed to her, it must be said. He 
had Minna’s two round-faced little girls beside him — 
they came down to dessert — and was cracking nuts for 
them, and gazing across the table at Juliet Clephane, who 
sat opposite to him. Susan sat next Archie Hamilton, 
and endeavored to encourage conversation between him 
and Carrie’s curate, who, though he might have been 
called the origin of the feast, was treated with distinct 
coldness by Mrs. Bracebridge. Carrie probably was the 
251 


252 THE ROSE OF JOY 

happiest person present. She looked across the table at 
Mr. Pewlitt, listening to his every word, and, wrapt in 
a happy dream, made no attempt to speak to Colonel 
Hamilton at all, except when he asked a question about 
the parish, when her face brightened in a moment. 

A servant, coming hurriedly into the room, said some- 
thing to Mr. Bracebridge in a low voice. He turned to 
Susan. 

44 Your uncle, Mr. Murchison, is here,” he said, look- 
ing a little surprised. 

44 Oh, bother ! ” said Dally, who heard. 

46 My uncle here ! I hope that there is nothing wrong,” 
said Susan. 44 Shall I go and speak to him? ” 

44 He wishes to speak to me, it seems. I’ll go and 
bring him in,” said Tom Bracebridge, rising. 

There was a lull in the conversation. Susan explained 
her uncle’s appearance to Minna. 

Dally sat back in his chair, and began to cut out a 
set of false teeth from an orange skin to the delight of 
the children. Minna looked on with disapproval. 

The silence grew oppressive. There came a great 
sound of voices from the hall. 

44 What on earth is the matter ? ” Darnley began, push- 
ing back his chair. Then Tom Bracebridge came in 
and stood at the foot of the table, with a strange 
face. 

44 Children, leave the room at once,” he said. The 
awe-struck little things slid from their places and went 
silently away. 44 Darnley,” said Mr. Bracebridge, 44 will 
you come and speak with me in the library ? ” 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 253 

Just at that moment the door opened, and Mr. Mur- 
chison came into the room along with a tall woman in a 
red hat. 

Tom Bracebridge turned in horror. “ Oh, I say, not 
before the women ! 99 he began. But the old man pushed 
him aside. He was deadly pale, and his voice shook 
when he tried to speak. He had the air of a stupid 
man excited, of a kind man driven into a sudden 
fury. 

“ Stop ! 99 he began, motioning to Dally. 44 Stay where 
you are, Mr. Stair ! Stop, all of you ; I don’t care who 
hears.” He 'turned on Dally. 44 Do you know this 
woman ? ” 

Darnley, standing up, faced them both. He crushed 
his table-napkin in one hand, his face grew gray as ashes, 
his eyes glittered in his head. 

44 He knows me very well,” began the woman. She 
crossed her hands in front of her, and raised her voice 
a little. She looked round the table with a hard 
eye, till she caught sight of old Mrs. Stair. 44 You 
know me too,” she said. 44 You remember Mary 
Reed?” 

44 She was my laundry-maid,” said Mrs. Stair. She 
looked down at her plate, not a muscle of her face moved. 
The other woman flushed with anger at the scorn in the 
light, dry words. 

44 I’m your son’s wife for all that, madam ! ” she cried 
out. 44 1 was married to him, as fast as you were ever 
married, fourteen years ago.” 

Mrs. Stair rose slowly to her full height, in her shabby 


254 THE ROSE OF JOY 

silk and mended lace, with her head held high. She leant 

one bony hand on the table and looked across at her 

son. 

“ Darnley,” she said, “ is this true? ” 

“ Yes, mother,” said Dally, “ it is.” 

For a moment there was no sound in the room, till the 
woman by the door gave a short and ugly chuckle. 
Susan had half risen from her chair, but the room swam 
around her. Then with a soft rustle Juliet got up before 
anyone spoke. She had more presence of mind than the 
whole of them put together. She paused an instant be- 
hind her cousin Archie’s chair. 

“ Look after Susan,” she whispered, and in another 
moment had swept down to the woman at the door. “ I 
remember you quite well when you were Mrs. Stair’s 
laundry-maid,” she said. Her voice was perfectly sweet 
and matter-of-fact. “ It must be trying for you to come 
here amongst us all. Please come into another room with 
me, and tell me all about it.” 

The woman eyed her. 

“You’re not Mistress Stair?” she asked, with bitter 
emphasis on the words. 

“ Oh, dear, no ! Only his cousin,” said Juliet cheer- 
fully. “ Come this way, please. Mr. Stair w r ill speak 
to you presently.” 

It was a cruel little scene ; the easy insolence with which 
she did it. Her height, her beauty, her station, her wits 
— the whole armory of weapons she possessed — all turned 
to account in one moment. The other woman hesitated ; 
her battered, clumsy person seemed to show' more plainly. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 255 
She let her arms fall by her sides, drooped her head, and 
allowed Juliet to lead her to the door. Juliet followed 
her. At the door she turned back for an instant and 
glanced up the table. Her part was to get the woman 
out of the way. 

“ Please, all of you others come, and leave them alone,” 
she said. She gave one long look at Dally; he winced 
like a man that is stabbed. 

Carrie and Mr. Pewlitt and old Mrs. Bracebridge left 
the room in hurried disorder. Archie Hamilton laid his 
hand over Susan’s as it rested on the edge of the table, 
and drew her gently back to her chair. He stood behind 
her. Dally made a choking noise in his throat, and ad- 
vanced a step towards his mother, but Mr. Murchison 
went on hoarsely: 

44 Stand where you are ; I’ve more to say yet. I want 
them all to hear it.” Pie looked at Susan’s white face, 
and trembled in his anger. 44 I took you into my busi- 
ness as a favor, Mr. Stair. You know your fine gentle- 
man airs were no great help. I allowed you to marry — 
marry! good God! — Susan, and this roguery is how 
you’ve paid me for it, and you’ve swindled me out of a 
thousand pounds.” He turned to old Mrs. Stair with the 
grotesque, piteous anger of a stupid man. 44 Madam, 
your son is a liar and a thief ! ” 

“ Sir, sir ! ” gasped Dally. “ Susan, mother, all of 
you, listen — won’t you? Can't you listen to me for half 
a minute? ” He grasped the back of the chair with 
hands that were clenched like iron. 46 It’s true about 
that woman. I did marry her — fool that I was — when 


256 THE ROSE OF JOY 

I was still a boy — just when I went to college. I paid, 
and paid, and paid.” He looked across at Colonel Ham- 
ilton. “ You helped me, sir ; I dare say you all thought 
me a dissipated wretch. Then she went off to America ; 
she stopped writing ; I thought she’d gone off with some 
man or other. I wrote and heard nothing. Then her 
people told me she was dead. I made all the inquiries 
that I could — everyone said the same.” He gasped 
again. “ That was nine years ago. I thought I was 
free at last — I swear that I did — and now she comes back. 
What could I do? How could I tell anyone that — for 
Susan’s sake? She wanted a thousand pounds, she said, 
and promised to go away forever if she got it. How 
could I raise that all of a sudden without making you 
all talk? How could I get it? Of course it was all 
madness, and worse, but what would you have done, any 
of you, in my place? I meant to pay every penny of 
it back by degrees. I — O God! will no one believe 
me? ” 

“ The best thing that can be done for everyone,” 
began Tom Bracebridge in his thick, matter-of-fact 
tone, “ is to get you out of the country at once. We’ll 
pay back the money, sir.” 

“ Tut ! The money’s nothing — it’s the disgrace,” 
said the old man. He turned again fiercely upon 
Dally. 

“ Go then ! get off ! get away with you to-night ! I’ll 
pay your passage to New Zealand myself to get you 
out of my sight. Take your wife with you ! ” 

“ Ah! ” said Susan faintly. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 257 

Dally pushed the others aside, and crossed the 
room to where his mother sat rigid in her chair. He 
threw himself down beside her and grasped at 
her dress. 44 Mother, mother, help me ! ” he said 
hoarsely. 

“ Oh, come away ! ” cried Minna, shuddering, pulling 
her husband’s arm. 

44 Mother ! 99 Dally called again. 

Mrs. Stair got up, pulling her skirt from his hand, 
her face set like flint. She gave him a little flip with 
her finger and turned away after Minna. 

44 I am the mother of no thief ! ” she said. 

Susan rose, steadying herself for a moment by leaning 
on the table, then with one long sobbing sigh she put her 
hand through Daily’s arm. He had risen to his feet 
and stood as if stupefied. Susan looked up at Archie 
Hamilton, who stood leaning against the wall, just under 
a lamp. He crushed a wreath of Christmas greenery be- 
hind him. The light fell full on his face: it was, as 
Emmy had called it long ago, 46 like an avenging 
angel.” 

44 Please,” she said, 46 will you help us? Go and send 
that woman away — get her to go just now. Dally will 
see her and arrange things with her afterwards, won’t 
you, Dally ? ” 

She put her hand over Daily’s hand and stroked it as if 
he had been a child. 

44 Now, Susan, go away and let us settle this,” began 
Mr. Murchison. 

44 Go away, my dear, for a little while. I will bring 


258 THE ROSE OF JOY 

Dally to speak to you afterwards,” said Colonel Hamil- 
ton. 

“ Go, Susan — go ! ” said Dally hoarsely. 

Susan let Colonel Hamilton take her hand and lead 
■her from the room. She sat she did not know how long 
alone. There was only one light in the room, half turned 
down. She did not raise her head or turn it up. Then 
she heard voices at the door — Archie Hamilton and Mrs. 
Stair. 

44 Let me go,” he said ; 44 I will tell her.” He came 
quietly into the room, shut the door, and bending down 
laid his hand on Susan’s shoulder as she sat with her 
face hidden. 44 Susan,” he said — he had never called 
her so before — 44 your uncle and Uncle Maurice have 
arranged that Dally goes away at once. It’s better so, 
believe me. Can you get some of his things packed for 
him now? Mrs. Stair said she would do it, but I told her 
that you would rather be alone.” 

44 I will do it — now,” said Susan, uncovering her face 
and rising to her feet. 44 Is that woman gone?” she 
asked. 

. Archie nodded. 44 She is.” 

44 Will Dally go — with her? ” 

44 Yes. She is his wife, Susan.” 

44 Oh ! ” said Susan, 44 1 forgot.” She moved unsteadily 
forward. 44 Ask Dally to come and tell me what he 
wants with him — now.” 

Archie went away. Susan began to move about the 
room, opening drawers and collecting Daily’s things and 
putting them into his dressing-case. She did not move 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 259 
when Dally came into the room, except to hold up some- 
thing she had in her hand, and say, “ Do you want this, 
Dally? ” 

Dally stood looking at her. She repeated the ques- 
tion. He did not answer. Then Susan turned to him 
and flung her arms about his neck ; her tears rained down 
on his shoulder. 

“ You must think,” she said; “ I want to do it for 
you.” 

Dally drew a long breath, then said in his strange, 
broken voice that she did not know, “ Yes, yes ; put in 
all my things. Be quick, Sue ; they’re waiting.” 

She packed his things, and just as she was done he 
lifted a little book from the table and shoved it in. It 
was her own little drawing-book, Susan saw. 

A few minutes later Susan walked with him softly 
through the hall. She held his hand like a child. At 
the door she stood still and lifted her face to him. He 
looked out into the dark street. The servants had put 
the box on to the cab and gone away. The whole house 
seemed hushed. In the wet street the cabman was walk- 
ing to and fro, slapping his arms to keep himself warm. 
The rain had blown over for a bit, but the lamps shone 
dismally reflectedly on the wet flags. 

“ Now go. Good-by, Dally,” said Susan. 

Dally did not speak, but bent and kissed her hands 
again as he had once kissed them long ago. 

“ Bless you — God bless you forever ! ” he said. “ I’ll 
never see you again ! ” 

“ Will you write to your mother, Dally? ” 


260 THE ROSE OF JOY 

He shook his head. 

“ What are you going to do? ” 

He shook his head again; great, quick tears were 
gathering in his eyes. 

“ Where are you going ? ” Susan asked piteously . 

Dally tore his hand away. “ To my eternal misery,” 
he answered, and turning from her went out into the 
night. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


S LOWLY, the next afternoon as the winter dusk 
closed in, Susan came out of her own room and 
crawled downstairs. She looked like some homely 
little flower beaten to the earth by a heavy storm. The 
Stair women had done the best they could — almost the best 
that could have been done — they left her alone at first. 
Minna, ever practical and kindly enough, had come up 
and told her she would find the library empty if she came 
downstairs. 

“ We won’t expect you to appear at dinner, you 
know,” she said, looking at Susan. “ But you’ve scarcely 
eaten anything to-day. Do you think a little minced 
chicken ” 

Susan gave a faint smile. She would try to eat any- 
thing that Minna liked to send her, she said. She had 
wanted to leave the house that morning, but Minna would 
not consent. 

66 I will go home to my own mother,” said Susan in 
a toneless voice that expressed nothing. She was very 
gentle and silent during Minna’s long colloquies, and, in 
spite of all that she could say, wrote to tell Mrs. Craw- 
ford she would go home in two days. She had a note 
from her mother that afternoon, and carried it down to 
the library to read. She could hear voices as she passed 
the drawing-room door, and judged that some members 

261 


262 THE ROSE OF JOY 

of the Stair family were holding a council there. 46 Let 
them talk,” she thought, 44 if it does them any good. I 
must get away from it all.” She had seen no one since 
the night before. Carrie and Mrs. Stair were still in the 
house, she knew. The library was already half dark. 
She sat down beside the fire to read Mrs. Crawford’s 
letter. It began without date or heading. 

44 My Dearest Susan : 

44 I am quite stunned by the terrible blow ” (this word 
had been crossed out and 44 news ” substituted, that again 
deleted and blow once more selected) 44 that your uncle 
came up to give me this morning. It made me so ill that 
I was obliged to go to bed, and unfortunately poor 
Tommy caught his hand in the mangle at the same time 
and squeezed it terribly. There is no consolation for 
such a sorrow, but the wound will heal in time. You 
must come home quietly, and we will try to bear it to- 
gether. Your uncle tells me that Colonel Hamilton is 
sending Mr. Stair to Australia. Although I knew that 
he called himself an Agnostic, I never could have imag- 
ined anything so terrible as this. Emmy is quite broken- 
hearted. We will expect you home on Thursday even- 
ing, my poor child — Your loving 

44 Mother. 

44 P. S. — I really do not know how to address your let- 
ter now — so terrible ! — so I just put 4 Susan 9 on 
the envelope and sent it addressed to Mrs. Brace- 
bridge.” 


CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 263 

Susan read the letter, and then leant back in the great 
armchair, and let her head fall back against the cushion 
as she sat and looked into the fire. The library in Min- 
na’s house was a useful room, although books or reading 
were not considered there. On all solemn family occa- 
sions, or even in the case of minor scenes such as the dis- 
missal of a servant, the library was used for the purpose. 
There Minna interviewed her very “family” doctor; 
there she conferred with the governess ; there kept her 
account books; there, had there ever been a funeral 
in the prosperous household, the funeral guests would 
have assembled — but that is going too far afield. The 
defense of a recalcitrant housemaid had been the limit 
of its drama, until the evening when Dally and his 
accusers had wrangled out their hour there together. 
None of the family had entered the room since. The 
blinds had been drawn down, and Minna had told the 
servants that Susan wanted to be alone. 

She sat very still, so hidden by the great chair that 
Archie Hamilton, coming in an hour later, at first sup- 
posed that the room was empty. Pie hesitated for an 
instant when he saw who it was, and then quietly came 
forward and spoke to her. 

“ Minna tells me you are going home to-morrow,” he 
said. 

“ I am quite well enough to go home,” said Susan. “ I 
want to go.” 

He stood by the fire and looked at her in silence. She 
sat there, an image of perfectly hopeless, unspoken sor- 
row, with the simplicity of misery that you sometimes 


264 THE ROSE OF JOY 

see in children, or amongst the poor, that says nothing, 
does nothing, has no hope. Her face was white and 
changed, her eyes red with weeping, but her mouth was 
firm. She had on a dull, ugly, tidy dress. Her hair was 
brushed smooth; her little feet, in the curiously clumsy 
shoes that she always wore, were crossed on a footstool; 
only her hands, the quick, practical hands of the artist, 
her wedding-ring still on the right one, hung listlessly 
on the arms of the chair. 

She might have been alone for all the notice she took 
of Archie’s presence. She lifted one hand and drew it 
wearily across her eyes. 

44 4 Curse God and die ! ’ ” said he, looking at her curi- 
ously. 

44 Yes,” said Susan, without looking up. 44 Do you 
think that I have not said that often to myself since 
Monday night? But it was my own fault.” 

44 Your fault — how? ” he asked. 

44 To marry him at all. It was all wrong from the 
very beginning, and now I am punished.” 

44 Yes, you are punished.” 

44 Think what it means to him,” said Susan. 

44 Ah ! ” said Archie dryly. 

44 1 don’t even know where he is going to,” she said in 
a slow, hopeless voice. She never looked up as she spoke, 
so she did not see the unmirthful smile that flickered on 
his mouth as he replied: 

44 You will hear from him, I believe, when he wants a 
little remittance.” 

Susan raised her head quickly. She got up and stood 


CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 265 
before Archie for a moment with a red spot on each pale 
cheek. 4 How can you feel such things? How can you 
say them ? Oh, I’m glad I cannot understand ! I would 
rather be what I am now than be like you with such a 
bad, hard heart.” 

She spoke with a bitterness that he had never heard 
in her voice before — that he had not believed her capable 
of feeling. 

“ Mrs. Stair,” he said, boldly using the name she was 
accustomed to, 44 1 beg your pardon. I ought not to have 
spoken so.” He bent his head and turned aside, finger- 
ing some little thing on the mantelshelf as he spoke. 44 1 
had a dog once — a good dog, too, that loved me. He 
was caught in a trap, and I bent and touched him, and he 
bit my hand.” His voice sank very low. 

Susan did not answer. The little object he had been 
fingering slipped from the mantelshelf and fell at her 
feet. 

It was a small pencil-case of Daily’s that he used con- 
stantly. The night that he had stood there, he too had 
been playing with it as he spoke, and had left it on the 
mantelpiece. Archie stooped and picked it up. 

44 Please give it to me,” said Susan, holding out her 
hand. 

44 Oh, is it yours ? ” he said. 

44 It belonged to Dally,” Susan answered, and then, as 
she took it, she threw herself back in her chair, covering 
her face with her hands, and wept. The young man 
went silently away. 

Presently old Mrs. Stair came into the room. She was 


266 THE ROSE OF JOY 

dressed in her old cloak and bonnet. Her thin hands 
trembled, but she still held her head high, and stalked 
in as usual. 

“ Susan,” she said in her harsh voice, “ I am going 
away. I came to bid you good-by.” 

Susan raised herself and looked at her without a word. 
Mrs. Stair pushed the black-knitted veil high off her 
face; it was ghastly. She held out her thin, hard hands 
to Susan. 

“ He’s broken my pride, Susan — and that has broken 
my heart.” 

“ Mother,” said Susan softly — she had never called 
her that before — then she flung herself into the old 
woman’s arms and sobbed again. What they said to 
each other Susan never told to anyone, or Mrs. Stair 
either, but Dally got a letter from his mother before he 
sailed. 

“ Good-by — my dear daughter said Mrs. Stair, turn- 
ing abruptly away. 

Susan went out to find Minna. “ I must go home to- 
morrow afternoon,” she said ; “ I am only a trouble to 
you here. I want, please, to go home and be quiet.” 

Minna did not know very well what to say. In the 
overwhelming catastrophe that the whole thing meant 
to them all, Susan’s presence in the house was undoubt- 
edly a torture. They had talked in pairs, in threes, in 
fours, in family council; they had argued, discussed, 
quarreled and marveled, always coming round again to 
the irremediable fact that the thing had happened, and 
nothing more could be done. They wanted to make 


CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 267 
Susan an allowance, but Mr. Murchison instantly and 
heavily refused. 

“ The thing’s done,” he said ; “ I never want to hear 
his name again. Let the matter be hushed up now for 
Susan’s sake, as soon as may be. The disgrace is on your 
side,” he went on unsparingly, “ but the suffering’s for 
her, and the less she has to do with you now the better.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


E DINBURGH is a beautiful city, but, oh! it is 
an inclement spot in which to meet with adversity. 
Susan insisted on going out alone the next morn- 
ing. She said she had some little things to do before go- 
ing home, and declined any company. As she hurried 
along the empty streets the cold seemed to pierce to her 
very bones, the icy wind drove against her face like the 
breath of some pitiless pursuing fiend, her feet fainted 
with the weariness of misery as she struggled along 
through the wet slush. She went but a little way, posted 
a letter (to Dally), and came back. It was one of those 
days in the Scottish winter when the weather is so horrid 
that anyone whose vitality is at all low feels as if the 
elements could murder with almost purposeful force. 
She came in chilled, and in order not to give trouble she 
told Minna that she would appear at luncheon. There 
was no one there but Minna and the children and Carrie 
and her curate. The children could not help staring at 
Susan, for her face was pale and strange, and Minna 
had carefully instructed them beforehand not to make 
any remarks about her. 

“ Will Uncle Dally soon be back? ” asked one of them 
in a shrill, loud voice. Carrie’s curate upset the water 
bottle — he was a shy little man, and it required nerve 
to do it, at Minna’s well-regulated table, but in the fuss 
268 


CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE 269 
that ensued the remark passed unheeded. Carrie de- 
clared, and he insisted, that he should accompany Susan 
to the station. She could not decently object, but it 
seemed to add an unnecessary touch of grotesque irrita- 
tion to the whole thing that the little man, nervously 
anxious to be of some assistance, and who was almost 
a total stranger to her, should drive the whole way with 
her. He went off to get her ticket, and on the platform 
she met Juliet and Archie Hamilton. Juliet just took 
her hand, as if she had been a child; she waved off the 
curate in some benign way on his return; she found an 
empty carriage, she talked on softly all the time, re- 
quiring no reply, saying nothing that could, hurt even 
Susan, getting Archie to bring her wraps, and guarding 
her from other people. She kissed her, and even smiled 
as she took a stand by the carriage door, unnoticeably 
preventing the entrance of a woman with a baby and a 
dog. 

Susan had a last glimpse of her and Archie standing 
together there, young, handsome, and kind — a sort of 
signal to her that the world was not quite empty, after 
all. 

There was a long drive from the nearest station to 
Burrie Bush. The hired fly that had been sent to meet 
her was damp and smelt of straw. Susan sat back and 
looked idly out of the window at the familiar country as 
she passed. Something about the lazy, continuous mo- 
tion lulled her feelings for the time; she felt as if it 
might go on forever. There was still a little daylight 
left when she reached home. She became instantly 


270 THE ROSE OF JOY 

aware of the chill silence that fell upon all the children 
as she came into the room, so different from the yeHs of 
joy with which they usually greeted her return. Mrs. 
Crawford rose with a tearful wail of, “ Oh, Susan ! ” 
She appeared to be the one who needed comfort instead 
of her daughter. Susan tried to steady her voice, and 
speak as usual before the children, but when they were 
alone together Mrs. Crawford altogether broke down and 
wept and wailed and worried, until Susan was nearly 
frantic. With the usual stupidity of weak and selfish 
natures, she seemed to consider only her own part in the 
affair. You would have thought all the trouble lay with 
her instead of Susan. 

“ Now,” said Susan at last, “ we have talked enough, 
mother. I cannot speak any more about it to-night. 
Let me go to my room.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t know where to put you,” wailed Mrs. 
Crawford. “ Will you just share Emily’s room as you 
used to do? ” 

“ Oh, yes, oh, yes ! ” said Susan listlessly. A terrible 
weariness had begun to oppress her. If she could just 
crawl away into any hole and die, she felt it would be a 
rest. There was something about this melancholy re- 
turn to the comfortless home that was worse than she 
could have ever imagined. The very untidiness of the 
room; the litter of schoolbooks left upon the sofa by 
the boys, who had gone out to feed their rabbits ; the un- 
swept hearth ; the worn, dusty carpet ; the heap of pur- 
poseless sewing by her mother’s chair ; each added a tiny 
grain of discomfort to her misery. It seemed unbe- 


CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE 271 
lievably horrible that she had come back with that scene 
of two days beforehand printed as it were inside her eye- 
lids forever — come back not even to quiet and peace, but 
to the shallow racketing of a noisy house and all the fool- 
ish sordidness of this ignoble existence. Emmy came 
into the bedroom to help her to unpack her trunks. She 
knelt before an open box, taking out the things and 
handing them to Susan, who mechanically put them 
away, scarcely knowing what she did. Emmy was awe- 
struck ; she spoke in a curious, solemn little voice, and was 
half afraid to look at her sister, yet could not quite con- 
ceal a child’s interest in some of Susan’s new possessions, 
which she had not seen before. Suddenly she stopped 
short and lifted her face, pushing the slips of black hair 
away from her eyes. 

44 What shall I do with these, Susan? Shall I leave 
them here? ” she asked. 

44 What is it ? ” said Susan wearily. 

The child stood up, with her arms full of some of 
Daily’s clothes that Susan had packed in her trunk be- 
fore they went into town. The socks fell on the floor. 
Susan gave a wild look at the things, then seized them 
from Emily, and pushed the child to the door. 

44 Go, go ! Leave me alone ; for Heaven’s sake, leave 
me ! ” she cried, changing her tone in an instant as she 
saw Emmy’s frightened eyes. 44 Go, darling, I am very 
unhappy, Emmy. I will be better quite alone for a 
little,” she said gently, leaning against the wall as she 
spoke, struggling against the overpowering sickness of 
soul that swept down upon her. Emmy, child though 


272 THE ROSE OF JOY 

she was, had more sense than her mother. She stole away 
without another word, said to Mrs. Crawford that Susan 
44 wanted to be left to arrange things by herself,” and 
sat down, pretending to read. She listened all the while 
for any sound from Susan’s room, her little heart beating 
painfully, taking, in her funny, childish effort at calm 
and concealment, the first step towards the woman’s part 
of caring for another. 

Meanwhile Susan sat alone in the disordered room. 
She had locked the door, and crouched down on the 
ground, leaning against her trunk. She held some of 
Daily’s things on her lap. There was still a faint and 
dismal glimmer of light, so that she could discern the 
outline of the bed against the wall — the bed she had 
slept in as a child. The same text still hung above it. 
She remembered how she had wakened there the morning 
before her wedding and seen the sharp shadows thrown 
upon the white window-blind. How all the world had 
changed since then ! Yet it was not two 3 ^ears ago. Sit- 
ting there in the half darkness, she met the full con- 
sciousness of her misfortune, and realized it all. 

44 And that was the dreadfulest fight that ever was 
seen,” says Bunyan of the conflict with Apollyon. 
Sooner or later most of us meet the enemy alone — and 
those are terrible hours when the soul, like some frenzied 
thing that beats itself against a wall, is thrown back 
again and again upon despair, only to realize afresh the 
same facts, immutable as before. 

An hour later Emmy crept to the door and knocked. 
Susan answered in her usual voice, 44 Come in, dearest,” 


CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE 273 
and the child entered timidly. Susan had washed away 
the traces of weeping from her face and had brushed her 
hair. She had put the room tidy, and folded all her 
things away. When she saw Emmy’s white face she 
came up and put her arms around her. 

“ You are too young to understand, Emmy ; some day 
I will tell you things. I have got you always.” 

As Emmy clung to her, and covered her face with 
kisses, Susan felt a glimmer of comfort at her touch. 

Late at night Emmy whispered to her sister, “ Are 
you sleeping, Sue? ” 

“ No, Emmy.” 

There was silence ; then Emmy said carefully, “ Where 
is Dally, Susan ? ” 

“ I do not know; I think he is going to Aus- 
tralia.” 

“ Won’t you ever see him any more? ” said the child, 
with a pitiful catch in her voice. Dally had been a hero 
to her. All her early romance had centered itself about 
him. She had just worshiped him for those very qual- 
ities that sensible people despised. A hundred romantic 
scenes she had pictured to herself. His bright discon- 
nected talk, his red hair, his white hands, his ancient 
name, his poverty, his very foolishness, all appealed to 
the child’s imagination, and she considered Susan as more 
than fortunate to be this gifted creature’s wife. Now 
it was all smashed like an eggshell, and Emmy had a ter- 
rible suspicion that this might happen to much of life as 
you grew older. 

“ Will you never see him any more? ” she said. 


274 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

44 Never,” Susan answered in a voice that silenced 
Emmy’s questionings. 

But the child fell asleep soon and forgot it all. She 
wakened with a start to see Susan standing at the window. 
Emmy stole from her bed and stood beside her. The 
window looked out over the rolling stretch of upland that 
lay beyond the house. A solid bank of white vapor cov- 
ered the land, but above that the sky was quite clear, 
without the shadow of a cloud, and right in front of 
them hung the moon attended by five splendid stars. 

44 I got up to look out,” said Susan. 44 1 expected to 
see nothing but fog, and I found this.” She put her 
arms about the child. 44 Don’t forget it, Emmy; look 
at it, and remember.” 

And the child, who did not care to read the heavens, 
saw that her sister smiled again ; so she crept back to bed 
and went to sleep content. 

44 Things can't have been so very bad after all if that 
can please her,” thought innocent Emmy. 


CHAPTER XL 


T HE most appalling catastrophe in any of our 
lives is nothing but a nine days’ wonder to our 
neighbors. For Susan the foundations of ex- 
istence had been shaken ; it was as if some mighty flood 
had swept her out of house and home, and she was drift- 
ing she knew not where. But after the first days of won- 
der and comment had gone by, the small section of the 
world who knew anything about her affairs ceased to be 
interested in her or in them. 

As the season advanced she found life more tolerable, 
for she could take the two younger children and go to 
spend the day out of doors. Perhaps the flat unemo- 
tional landscape around Burrie Bush was as consoling 
as any surrounding could have been. It made no demand 
for comment and admiration, and at first Susan had 
none of either to give. The joy of life, the taste of life, 
the relish for it had left her completely. Indoors, in the 
shabby, ill-conducted house, with the noise of the children 
and her mother’s unexhilarating company, she was very 
miserable. Mrs. Crawford was, of course, the sort of 
person who could never let a thing alone. She kept al- 
ways reminding her daughter by some feeble tactless 
speech of her unfortunate situation. She would say: 

“ Will you not come with me to Miss Mitford’s, 
Susan? Oh, you would rather not! Well, of course, as 
a widow — at least, as something of that sort — you would 
275 


276 THE ROSE OF JOY 

rather not or else she would repeat dismally, 44 Well, 
I’m sure, Mrs. Stair may be to be pitied, but I am more 
so, for it’s so difficult to know what to call you! ” 

44 Oh, mother, as if that mattered,” said Susan, flush- 
ing. 

44 It does matter ; it’s extremely awkward. I don’t 
even like to call you 4 Miss Susan ’ to the servants,” said 
Mrs. Crawford, with a plaintive note. She had already 
heaped upon Susan all the trifling household duties that 
used to occupy her before her marriage, but Susan was 
thankful to have them to do. It was a pleasure to look 
after the children and make the house as orderly as she 
could, and Emily, who was growing up very fast, was 
her one delight. The long months passed slowly ; at first 
she hardly knew how, only that one day succeeded an- 
other. At night she was surprised to find that each had 
gone. She was left without any stay or comfort, for 
Emmy was too 3 r oung for that, and her mother’s wailing 
was not sympathy, but irritation, to her. She would go 
out as the summer came on and sit for hours, while the 
children amused themselves. The low green knolls, with 
shadows dropped on them for a moment as the clouds hid 
the sun ; the bare slopes, with the open road running on 
and on across them; the familiar, almost featureless, 
country that her eyes had known since childhood soothed 
her unconsciously. But something seemed to be alto- 
gether gone from her. It was as if her sense of beauty 
had been entirely lost; nothing delighted her any more. 

44 Look, Susan, how lovely,” the children would say, 
bringing her their little treasures — snail shells with black 


CHAPTER FORTY 277 

whorl designs, butterflies or bits of moss or blossom, all 
the things that she herself used to teach them to admire ; 
and she would look at them, answering absently: 

“ Oh, yes ! very pretty.” 

“ Just like other people,” thought Emmy, who was 
quick to notice the change. 

One day she and Emmy had taken a short cut through 
the fields, and they came to a place where two low hazel 
trees were growing, one on each side of a little brook. 

“ There’s the prince and princess, Sue, that we used to 
make stories about,” called Emmy. “ See, their arms are 
quite close together now.” 

“ Yes, yes, I see,” said Susan, and turned away her 
head. Emmy saw her whitening cheek and wondered, 
but was silent. 

So the whole summer passed, and winter came on 
again. One day Susan got a note from Lady Agnes 
Hamilton. Juliet (she said) was coming down to visit 
her, and would Susan not come too? 

“ I think,” she wrote, “ that you will find the change 
will do you good. Juliet tells me you have refused to go 
anywhere. If I may offer any advice, I should say to 
you, ‘ Have courage and begin again.’ ” 

Susan sat for a long while with the letter in her hand. 
She wanted to go, yet she had not the courage, she felt, 
to go on with life, or to make any movement of her own 
will any more. The letter called to her like a voice from 
some walled garden to one toiling on a long road. There 
was a world, after all — a beautiful world, as she had once 
imagined it, where sorrow was forgot ; where there were 


278 THE ROSE OF JOY 

books and pictures, philosophy and friends. “ The in- 
destructible joys forever,” as Maurice Hamilton had told 
her. All that evening she was very quiet. Mrs. Craw- 
ford was sleepy and peevish, and the fire smoked, mak- 
ing the room more uncomfortable than usual. There was 
the distant sound (invariable at that hour) of the little 
maid cleaning knives in the pantry ; then her mother told 
her to “ ring for prayers.” The boys came scuffling in 
from the schoolroom, and subsided into quiet for a few 
minutes. The pale-faced, untidy cook and the little 
Jemima took their places by the door. The well-known 
phrases of Mrs. Crawford’s prayer followed — so far 
away from her destitute heart. All was so much the same 
as it had always been — an hour instead of four years 
might have passed since she was a girl, before she had 
ever seen Dally Stair. Only, the older boys were gone, 
replaced by the younger, and Emily was nearly seven- 
teen now. Susan had been quite surprised to nnd Jemima 
still there when she came home — still a young, slipshod, 
smiling girl. She felt as if her hair should have been 
gray. The gulf that had opened under her feet had 
made her lose all sense of time at first. Everything was 
so curiously unchanged, and yet the days before her 
marriage seemed so long ago. Perhaps, she thought 
(looking at her mother), if she could get away from this 
life for a little while, from its obscurity and mental in- 
digence, she would find “ courage to begin again.” She 
read Lady Agnes’s letter once more, and then sat down 
and wrote a reply, saying that she would go. 

It was a help to have made a resolution at last, but it 


CHAPTER FORTY 279 

is difficult to face the world for the first time after the 
heart has lived alone with sorrow. It comes trembling 
out of the darkness, like a prisoner who has been long 
in a dark cell. 

Susan would fain have turned and gone back again 
when she had once started on her journey. Juliet met her 
in town, and they traveled after that together. 

“ You look so thin, Susan ; I think that being at home 
is not good for you. You must stay with Aunt Agnes 
for a long time,” said Juliet. 

Susan smiled faintly, a sort of ghost of her former 
brightness. She looked so faded and pitiful when they 
arrived that Juliet wondered if she had been mistaken 
in urging her to come. 

It was dark when they reached the little station. 
Archie met them, and they walked up to the house to- 
gether, a very short way, up the steep, narrow lane where 
Susan and Dally had once walked together. Susan 
heard again the plash of oars, the cries and noises from 
the ships, and saw how the river twinkled with a hundred 
lights, but it made no impression on her. She felt as if 
she were walking in a dream. Lady Agnes met them in 
the little doorway, impartially welcoming them both. 
She scarcely looked at Susan before she led her away to 
the same tiny bedroom that she had occupied before. 
When she was left alone she began to unpack some of her 
things, but then her courage failed her suddenly, and 
she huddled herself up in a chair and allowed wave after 
wave of depression to sweep over her. 

“ I was a fool to come,” she thought; “ I am half- 


280 THE ROSE OF JOY 

dead, and blighted, like a green thing by frost. I cannot 

revive, and I shall only be a trouble to them all.” 

Archie went into the drawing room and stood by his 
mother’s chair. 

“ What have they been doing to that poor girl? ” he 
began. “ It’s horrible. She looks like something that 
has been starved in a cellar.” 

“ You have seen her home? ” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed I have, but she looks worse than I 
expected.” 

Lady Agnes was knitting. She counted her stitches, 
and replied in a low voice, “ There are subterranean 
depths in that kind of life, I suppose.” 

Susan came slowly into the room a few minutes later. 
She had on an unusually ugly dress, a fussy thing made 
by the local dressmaker, of the ugliness of which she was 
well aware. Had not Dally told her once that it “ was 
the sort of dress that makes a man admire a courtesan ? ” 
She remembered the speech as she looked with dull eyes 
at her own graceless reflection when putting it on. What 
did it matter to her, or to anyone else now, what she 
looked like? At the same time she remembered that she 
was ugly as she came into the room. Her hands were red 
and cold, her eyelids also somewhat red, and her eyes 
blurred with weeping. She was so incapable of the elas- 
ticity that in youth will sometimes carry off* such an ap- 
pearance that her feet felt quite heavy as she crossed the 
floor. 

“ It seems 4 the ages of ages ’ since we last met,” said 
Archie. 


CHAPTER FORTY 281 

He stood looking down at her. He had the same power 
that his mother possessed of imparting a quick strong 
impression without the use of words. Susan had to hold 
back her head a little to look at his face. She saw herself 
as in a mirror in the compassion that fell from it — was 
aware in a moment of her own sad little history, the 
shabbiness of her dress, the patience and sorrow in her 
face. 

Lady Agnes meantime went on talking quietly. Susan 
gave her very brief assent. She remembered how Emily 
used to try to get as close to Lady Agnes as she could. 
There was a sudden shelter in her very presence. How de- 
lightful it would be, thought Susan, to have those white 
hands laid upon her hot eyelids, or to be allowed to bury 
her face on that bosom. Lady Agnes continued her 
work, looking as if no one had less invited such tender- 
ness. 

The room brightened in a few minutes when Juliet 
entered with a rustle and a flutter and a strand of hair 
falling over one ear, declaring her room was so dark and 
her candle gave so poor a light that she could not see to 
dress properly. 

“Your candles have the effect of glow-worms, Aunt 
Agnes. How you ever do that dreadfully glossy hair, or 
how Archie achieves these velvet-shaven cheeks, I don’t 
know. Oh, Susan, you dear thing ! I am so glad to see 
you again.” 

She began to play with a little heart that hung on 
Susan’s chain, and opening it, caught at something that 
fell onto her lap. 


282 THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ Here is something precious for you, Susan. I nearly 
lost it just now. What is it? ” she began, and then she 
saw it was a little lock of red hair. 

Susan said nothing, but replaced it, and spoke of 
something else. Juliet got painfully red, and bit her 
lips in vexation. 

“ How could I ! How could I be such a cruel idiot ! ” 
Juliet said, when after dinner Archie found her stand- 
ing alone in the drawing room. She leant her pretty 
head on the mantelpiece and groaned. 

“ What have you done ? ” he asked, indulgent, as most 
people were to Juliet. 

“ Oh, didn’t you see that little locket thing, Archie? 
Fancy keeping the creature’s hair ! ” 

“ Was that a lock of Daily’s hair? ” 

“ Indeed it was — as red as red. Oh, I am miserable ; 
I have hurt her. I am a senseless, selfish goose.” 

“ You don’t often err in that way,” said Archie. He 
reflected for a minute, and then he said, “ I suppose she 
cared for him.” 

“Do you think she did?” said Juliet, raising her 
head with interest. 

“ Well, that looks like it. If you were to carry a lock 
of my hair, for instance.” 

“ I will, I will if you will give me that thick little one 
that always falls down on your brow.” 

He rubbed it hurriedly aside and laughed, and the 
question about Susan’s affections remained unsolved. 

The first two days seemed very long to Susan, so that 
she wondered why she had come at all — away out 


CHAPTERFORTY 283 

amongst strangers in her humiliation, with her bleeding 
heart. Gradually this feeling wore off. Food began to 
have some taste to her again, and one day, for the first 
time, she found some interest in a book. She sat in the 
window-seat that looked to the river and read for nearly 
two hours without raising her head. 

Juliet, coming in to ask her to walk with her, found 
her still reading. “ Is it very interesting? ” she asked, 
coming up beside her. 

Susan started. “ Is it? I don’t know. I was inter- 
ested. I understood what I was reading ; for a long time 
I have not done so.” 

“ Oh, Susan,” said Juliet, 46 how dreadful it has all 
been ! 99 

“ Yes, dreadful,” said Susan. Her voice was dry and 
cold. And Juliet hurried to change the subject. 

The next morning, very early after breakfast, Susan 
went out by herself. It was quite warm, even in Janu- 
ary, for the sun was very bright, although frost lay 
thick upon the ground. She wandered up the precipi- 
tous little road that led to the top of the promontory, 
and, leaning on the wall, looked down upon the river. 
The milk-white mists were opening and dissolving upon 
the radiant sea; the air, salt and mild, felt like cold 
water against her face as she looked to the west. In the 
tranquil winter sunshine the wooded heights and the 
ancient little town below were reflected again in the water. 
There was a world of ships, a hum of faint sounds and 
calls. Between the sides of the hills the river broadened 
slowly to the open sea that shone as if mingled of milk 


284 THE ROSE OF JOY 

and fire. The sky was wide and without a cloud. The 
whole bright landscape seemed alive with joy. There 
was something unearthly in the beauty of the brilliant 
winter morning and the melting mist. She stood still, 
looking at it breathless, and something descended like 
healing upon her mind ; her eyes were opened once more 
to the beauty of the world. 

Juliet came out and stood beside her. Susan had not 
heard her approach. When she spoke Susan turned with 
a sudden exclamation: 

“ Oh , I see him again! ” she said. 

44 What do you mean?” Juliet asked in perplexity. 
Susan turned to her with the first smile that Juliet had 
seen on her face since she came. 

44 Have you ever read 6 Pilgrim’s Progress,’ Juliet? ” 

“ I suppose I have, but I forget.” 

44 Do you remember how Christian called out when he 
rose again after he had almost sunk in the river, 4 Oh, 
I see him again ? ’ ” 

44 Oh,” said Juliet. Then she laughed her pretty frank 
laugh, showing three dimples. 44 Do you ? I’m very glad 
that you do.” 

She related the incident to Archie Hamilton later in 
the day. 

44 She’s almost cracked — the sweet thing — and she’s 
been very, very miserable, but I think she’ll get better 
with us.” Then she asked him : 

“ Who do you suppose she meant? ” 

44 Perhaps it was Dally Stair,” said Archie, with bitter- 
ness unusual even for him. 


CHAPTER XLI 


W EEKS of quiet lived chiefly in the open air, 
the society of people who were entirely con- 
genial to her, a fresh current of thought, new 
and beautiful scenery — all these causes, Susan told her- 
self, were doing her good. Then she began to think 
about her return — going back to St. Fortunes and to her 
uncle and Mrs. Murchison. 

“ Why am I so happy here ? ” she wondered, and then 
suddenly with a start she realized that she had begun 
to know something of the tenderness of a companionship 
of heart that she had never even dreamt of before. What 
would life be like without it? Archie Hamilton’s thin 
brown face with the deeply sunken eyes seemed always 
before her. Without any effort, almost without any con- 
sciousness of it, she felt as if she had come quite near to a 
nature that was hidden from most of the outer world. 
The man’s strength and uprightness of character, his 
real humility and kindness were always visible to her now 
under the thin covering of his bitter speeches. She won- 
dered sometimes why it was that she could understand all 
this suddenly, as if at the bottom of her heart she had 
known it from the first. 44 I shall go home soon,” she 
thought, 44 before it becomes more difficult to go.” 

The day after Susan had taken this resolution, she 
was late in coming down to breakfast. Juliet came into 

285 


286 THE ROSE OF JOY 

the room first; Archie lifted a letter and placed it be- 
fore her. 

44 Do you see that ? 99 he said expressively. He had 
picked it up as if he could scarcely bear to touch it, his 
face was dark and angry. It was an envelope that had 
been readdressed several times 44 Miss Susan Crawford 99 ; 
then followed two addresses, from which it had been for- 
warded, St. Fortunes and Burrie Bush. In an instant 
Juliet recognized the sprawling, legible hand. Her face 
grew white as she looked up at Archie. 

44 It’s from Dally,” she said. 

He nodded. They could hear Susan coming down- 
stairs. With an expression of extreme repugnance he 
put the letter into his pocket. 

44 Let her have breakfast in peace,” he said quickly ; 
44 1 will give it to her afterwards.” 

He found Susan alone after breakfast and brought it 
to her. 

44 A letter for you, I think,” he said, not affecting any 
unconsciousness of what it was. He saw her sudden 
pallor and the sickened way that she turned it round in 
her hand without breaking the seal. He was going away, 
but Susan put out her hand and stopped him. 

She opened the letter and gazed at it for a minute, 
and then she turned to him piteously. 

44 Oh, I can’t read it — take it.” He took her hand and 
held it in his own. Susan felt how cool and strong it 
was. 

He glanced over the letter, then said quietly, 44 Dally 
is anxious to let you know that, in his opinion, he is free 


CHAPTER FORTY-ONE 287 
from all ties to the woman he married ; she is now living 
with another man.” He stopped for a minute, then went 
on with a low, unshaken voice, 44 I think, if you read the 
letter quietly, you will see that it is very character- 
istic.” 

“ I will read it,” said Susan. 44 What shall I do 
then? ” 

44 Burn it, and make no reply — if you ask me.” 

44 Oh, I could not do that ! ” said Susan. 

44 No, I suppose you could not. Shall I answer it? ” 
he asked. 44 You might allow me to do that for you, 
without harm.” 

44 Oh,” said Susan in a little low voice, 44 1 wish I was 
dead.” 

Archie said nothing. In his presence she often felt 
herself weak and foolish. This was what had made her 
dislike him at first. 

44 You cannot understand what I feel,” she said at 
last. 44 You would not believe me or understand, and if 
I were to try to explain it would only make matters 
worse.” 

44 Please, 4 try to explain.’ ” 

44 1 am not free to listen to you. I do not want to hear 
what you say. I am afraid — I ” 

44 You mean, in short, that you are Daily’s wife,” he 
said in the bitter tone that made Susan feel foolish. 

44 I meant something which you could not, or would 
not understand. Can’t you let me bear my sorrow in 
peace? Have I not had enough to bear without this? ” 

44 Ah, my dear ! ” he said, and turned his face away 


288 THE ROSE OF JOY 

for a moment. “ I can’t agree with your views of 

righteousness.” 

“ With what you call my little provincial moralities,” 
said Susan. 

“ Did I say that? I shall be silent. It seems I only 
offend }'ou by speech.” 

44 You do,” said Susan passionately. 44 Ai-i I not mis- 
erable enough without this? I cannot — I will not listen 
to you. I don’t even understand you — I don’t want 
to.” 

44 I’ll make you understand, then,” said Archie, 44 at 
the risk even of making you more unhappy, of making 
you more angry with me than you are at present. You 
must hear me say it once. You are no more Darnley 
Stair’s wife now than I am. He has no claim on you 
whatever. He deserves nothing from you but to be for- 
gotten. Your circumstances are very difficult. Marry 
me, Susan. The word is ugly to you, I dare say. Come 
to me, and let me take care of you. I love you far better 
than you know, for it began when I had no hope at all.” 

He sat and looked at her, but did not take her hand 
again. Susan’s head was bent. Daily’s letter lay on her 
knee, and her large, slow tears were dropping on the 
cover and blotting the address. 

“ There’s only one life for each of us, Susan,” he 
went on; 44 it just remains to decide what to do with it. 
There is the one side — I hardly need to speak of it ; my 
own heart tells it to me in the night. I dare say that 
yours has done the same. Then the other — the higher 
moralities and all the rest of it; but in the end could 


CHAPTER FORTY-ONE 289 
anything make up for the loss of the one thing we de- 
sired ? ” 

44 You don’t understand,” repeated Susan slowly. 

44 I understand very well indeed,” he answered, 44 that 
you will let your whole life, and mine, be spoilt for the 
sake of a man who has deceived you and broken your 
heart.” 

44 He did not deceive me ; he was mistaken.” 

44 He behaved like a scoundrel and a fool.” 

44 Don’t ! ” said Susan ; 44 it hurts me.” 

44 Did you love him? ’\asked Archie suddenly. 

Susan’s voice shook. 

44 No.” 

44 Do you love him now? 99 

44 No,” said Susan in an almost inaudible voice. She 
added quickly, 44 Not in the way that you mean.” 

She dried her eyes and looked up at him, composed 
again. 

44 1 am going home to-morrow.” 

44 Will you let me come and see you? ” he asked. 

44 1 would rather not,” said Susan. 

44 Will you write to me sometimes? ” 

44 1 have nothing to say.” 

44 Will you let me answer that letter? ” 

44 1 will answer it myself.” 

He gave a little shiver of impatience. 

44 If I can ever help you, will you ask me to do so? ” 

44 1 do not think that I will,” said Susan. She took 
Daily’s letter in her hand, and without another look at 
him went out of the room. 


290 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

The next morning, when she emerged from her tiny 
dark bedroom, the sun was striking full on the front of 
the house. She had some little time to wait before go- 
ing to the station, and she stood with Juliet looking out 
across the river. The folds of distant country lay clear 
in the winter sun. The fields were red, the bare woods 
almost purple, and the whole soft landscape full of warm 
color. 

“ Oh, merry England ! ” said Susan, with a sigh. “ It 
will be so different at home.” 

Juliet eyed her. “ Why are you going back so soon, 
then? ” 

“ Because I must,” said Susan. “ 1 am going to try 
to begin again.” 


CHAPTER XLII 

U OME down and live with me again,” said 

■ Mrs. Murchison. She sat looking at Susan, 
her broad feet firmly planted on the carpet, 
her square sensible face softened by an unwonted look of 
compassion. 

It was nearly two months since Susan had returned 
from the Hamiltons’. She was getting very thin, her 
aunt noticed. There were dark patches under her eyes, 
and her lips seemed tightened. She had the look of a 
person taxed beyond power of endurance, who would 
soon break down. 

44 Come back and live with me, Susan,” her aunt re- 
peated. 64 1 need you : your mother doesn’t. It’s time 
that Emily stood on her own feet.” 

Susan looked up, then looked down ; her lips quivered. 

44 Dear me ! I know what you mean. Yes, it ’ll be a 
wrench for a day or two, I dare say, but you’ll soon get 
over that. Oh, yes, you would ! ” 

44 But there is Emmy, and mother,” said Susan. 

44 High time Emmy learned to stand on her own feet! 
Your mother did without you before; she can do with- 
out you again. Your mother’s not the person for you 
to lean on now, Susan.” 

44 Perhaps she is not,” Susan admitted, being conscious 
291 


292 THE ROSE OF JOY 

that Mrs. Crawford had never been the person to lean 

upon at any time. 

“ You’re neither maid nor widow,” went on Mrs. 
Murchison. (Susan winced under this remark.) She 
continued, without noticing, 44 What you want is a quiet, 
comfortable home, where you will be taken care of, and 
you’ll get that with me, I think. Just say you’ll come, 
and your room will be ready for you on Monday.” Mrs. 
Murchison paused, and added, in what for her was almost 
a shamefaced way, 44 There’s the breakfast room you can 
have to yourself, now. There is plenty of light in it ; you 
can paint there as long as you like. It’s not my idea of 
amusement for a young person, but it seems to be yours, 
and you shall do it as much as you like.” 

“ Oh, thank you, thank you ! ” said Susan, putting 
out her hand and taking hold of her aunt’s hand im- 
pulsively. 44 You are good and kind, aunt. I will only 
be a trouble to you — at first, at least — but I will come. 
I never seem to have any time to myself here,” she added. 
“ Of course there is so much noise in a house with chil- 
dren — a great deal to do.” 

“ It’s not that,” remarked Mrs. Murchison, as she rose 
to go. 44 It’s just because there’s little to do that nothing 
is ever done, and you have no time to yourself. You’ll 
come on Monday, then? ” 

So Susan went again to St. Fortunes early in the next 
week. The carriage came skidding rapidly down hill 
between the narrow high- walled lanes. She sat forwards 
mechanically, as she always used to do, and saw the 
square tower rising from the bushes at its knees. She 


293 


CHAPTER FORTY-TWO 
got out at the door of the old white house, and even on 
the doorstep a keen stab of memory recalled to her the 
last time she had stood there with Dally beside her. 
From that door she had gone out after her wedding. 
Her eyes were dim as she crossed the big dark hall and 
mounted the low stair. She almost expected to see Dally 
standing with his back to the fire as she came into the 
huge drawing room. Every one of its four hundred and 
seventy blue spots had a tongue and called out his name 
for a moment as she first glanced about the room. But 
her aunt received her with a total absence of all emo- 
tion ; asked her if she was cold ; gave her a seat by the 
fire, and then went on to talk over all the tiny events of 
the neighborhood as if she had never left it. 

It was neArly two months later that Susan one morn- 
ing came into the low-roofed sunny room that looked 
out on the garden. She shut the door stealthily, as if 
half afraid. She looked round the room, hesitated; her 
face grew pale, then grew red; at last she moved to the 
table, spread out her materials, and began to draw. 

At first everything went wrong. She stopped and 
looked at what she had done: its lifelessness and weak- 
ness were self-evident. A rush of blinding tears filled her 
eyes, and she covered her face and wept. An hour after- 
wards she was still busy, bending over her work, the 
traces of tears still on her face, her hands trembling, but 
her soul set free once more. She tasted the joy of life 
again. She returned to the land of the living, and got 
out of her own grief into the golden world of Art once 
more — a world where she had a corner of her own, an aim, 


294 THE ROSE OF JOY 

a certainty of vision, a joy that such natures as hers 
alone possess, and which the world can neither give nor 
take away. 

It seemed to her in the quiet months that followed that 
she had wakened out of a long sleep ; still wearied she 
awoke, but the healing of her soul had begun, and all 
through these unnoticeable days and months she was 
slowly “ waxing her well of her deep wound.” 

It was an inner change entirely, and the circum- 
stances in which it took place were not circumstances of 
any excitement or romance. Slowly to live through the 
changes of the soul in an obscure little country town, 
partaking of its lilliputian interests and amusements, is 
not outwardly interesting, but in looking back on these 
three years that she lived at St. Fortunes, it seemed to 
Susan that she had found the right way then. She sur- 
rendered herself to the beauty of the world. Not that 
there was much of it at St. Fortunes to anyone that had 
an ambitious heart. She shut out the thought of the 
past, and she knew of nothing in the future that seemed 
to offer any prospect of change. 

Humbly, with all her senses, she allowed herself to 
gather in all the impressions that she could. After that 
dreadful numbness she had felt at first, that want of taste 
in the whole of life, it seemed almost satisfaction enough 
to be alive to the beauty of the world once more. Every 
detail of place and people, the changes of the seasons, 
the whole life of the little town sank into her heart, as a 
deep impression sinks into soft wax : In winter the frozen 
roads, between high old walls; the long line of ancient 


CHAPTER FORTY-TWO 295 
fisher houses with pale red roofs ; the salt gray sea forever 
splashing below them ; the gayety of moonlight on frosty 
nights; the moon riding high, and looking down upon 
the little lives being lived out in those little houses on that 
sad, bitter coast, looking down upon their labors, their 
fires and lighted windows; Susan learnt to know all the 
sounds of the narrow streets, the roaring from the 
taverns, the squeaking of boats that rubbed sides in the 
harbor; the clock from the church tower measuring out 
their time — on winter nights it spoke like a low, clear 
voice, uttering a few short words. Even indoors every- 
thing was stamped upon her mind: the way that the 
quiet long passages of the old house suddenly re-echoed 
to the postman’s knock; the worn steps of the winding 
stone stair that led to the back of the house; the great 
drawing room, hideous with its acres of dark green car- 
pet (“ It’s almost like crossing a meadow to reach the 
fireplace,” Dally used to say) ; the bright fire sparkling 
in the old brass grate; all the windows on stormy days 
splashed with spray, looking out on the steep and narrow 
lane under the brewery wall, where lorries drawn by 
powerful horses went up and down ; . . . always the line 
of the restless sea and the long low shore beyond. The 
island, that floated like an anchored ship, and seemed to 
change its position with the waning of the day ; the blaze 
from the revolving light almost before the dusk had 
gathered. Then the long nights, when Susan lay awake, 
and heard the town clock still marking the dark hours — 
heard too the stamp, stamp of the old white horse im- 
patient in his stable ; then the clatter of the first passing 


296 THE ROSE OF JOY 

carts in the morning, and gradually all the merry voices 

of day began once more. 

The changes of the seasons out of doors were painted 
like a picture on her heart. The early sunshine of 
spring ; the chorus of larks hanging in the sky ; a spring 
flower appearing here and there; then the orchards, the 
beautiful orchards, with their low, twisted trees, their 
enlaced branches, their alleys filled with purple shadows ; 
pink spreading amongst tender green till all the world 
was a fairyland of blossoming trees; apple trees heavy 
with bloom, satisfying the last wish of the heart for 
beauty ; pear trees all white and drooping to the ground ; 
birds singing like angels everywhere for one ecstatic 
hour; then silence and more sleep; the great lilac tree 
at the garden door, fine as a court lady with 44 green 
heart-shaped leaves ” and spikes of purple blossom ; the 
thin long rods of cherry bloom against the black holly 
trees. As summer advanced, the way the garden grew 
and grew, pushing out weeds and flowers alike ; the rank 
lush borders crowded with singing bees ; the heavy 
boughs with green fruit forming on them ; the deep 
shadow; the blinding sun (the clock striking always the 
hot, short hours ) ; the hoarse birds that flew off with a 
caw and a cackle when disturbed amongst the fruit; 
bunches of currants like rubies under the leaves ; fields of 
poppies and corn ; the gay, curious coloring of turquoise- 
blue sea ; red roofs ; yellow fields dashed with scarlet. 

The mild, long autumn evenings, veiled in slight mist 
from the sea; when village people turned out of doors 
to loaf and gossip in the dusty street; the indescribable 


CHAPTER FORTY-TWO 297 
autumn sunsets setting the heavens on fire; fishing 
smacks steering in and out of the haze with long reflec- 
tions quivering below them ; the sudden sharpness of a 
breeze from the east; scents of the sea, of malt, of new 
bread from the bakehouse; the lines of elms along the 
fields ; flights of rooks and gulls ; stacks in the quiet har- 
vest-fields ; and then the sudden reappearance of color 
in the orchards — crimson pears, scarlet apples, orange 
and purple plums ; the smell of fruit, the vivid autumn 
leaves; the fatigued, overripe sensation of the whole 
land, as if its work was done ; the mild large moons ; the 
gardens smelling of marigolds and wood smoke; ear- 
wigs ; glistening cobwebs on the hedges ; swallows begin- 
ning to move their little blue-coated families ; fires begin- 
ning indoors as the evenings grew cold; robins singing 
from the thorn trees; frost at night; the clock always 
striking the hours away, until once more autumn dew on 
to the long Scotch winter, and the fields lay sad and sal- 
low ; the days grew cold and short ; the long dark nights 
were squally with wind and rain; the laggard morning 
gave scarcety light enough to work in; and the storm 
wind blew the reeling, screaming gulls about the sky. 

Susan observed, listened, learned, till all this had been 
gathered into the chambers of her brain ; after all she 
lived once more. She had her share again in the sweet 
occurrences of the revolving year. Was any life quite 
poor that had such an appetite for beauty? Was any 
heart quite empty that could understand all this ? A new 
nature, it seemed, was woven to her slowly, out of a thou- 
sand sights and sounds. 


CHAPTER XLIII 


C ARRIE STAIR was now Mrs. Pewlitt, living 
perfectly satisfied with her small husband, in her 
small house, on her very small income. She came 
often to see Susan, for whom she had a great affection. 
When Minna scorned the rather pallid infant that Carrie 
produced in course of time, she drove over to St. Fortunes 
with it and feasted upon Susan’s admiration. Her ab- 
sorption in her own affairs was now so complete that she 
seemed to regard her former home, her parents, and her 
sisters as distant figures in a dream. 

Susan had never gone again to Striven, nor had she 
seen Mrs. Stair, who could not leave her husband. He 
lingered on half alive for many months, with sufferings 
that wore out his poor daughters’ little strength before 
the end. When Susan heard of his death at last she felt 
as if she wanted to go to see Mrs. Stair, but did not like 
to offer a visit. 

But Carrie came the day before the funeral to ask if 
Susan would go to Striven. She could not go herself 
because her child was ailing, and she would not leave it. 
“ Mother says she would rather have you than anyone 
else, Susan. Kate and Ellen are worn out.” 

Mrs. Murchison objected strongly, but Susan took her 
own way, and they went. 

M How well you are looking ! ” said Carrie involun- 
298 


CHAPTER FORTY-THREE 299 
tarily, glancing at her with admiration. Susan had 
gained very much in a sort of gentle dignity; her face 
had recovered its wholesome color, and her eyes were quiet 
and bright. 

No one had come to meet her at Striven, so she walked 
to the house alone, along the road that once had been 
so familiar to her. It was a day in early autumn when 
the curious gay coloring of the pale fields, the turquoise- 
blue sea, and the red roofs of the houses in the village 
gave no suggestion of decay. But the trees were be- 
ginning to fade, the gravel in front of the house and 
even the very doorstep was covered with sere leaves 
drifted from the elms by the autumn wind. 

Mrs. Stair met Susan without any embraces. She 
was become as thin as a skeleton, her yellow face was 
harsh and drawn, and her eyes seemed set in scarlet rims. 
But she still held herself upright, and did not shed a 
tear. The house looked even more dilapidated and 
poverty-stricken than before. Kate told Susan later in 
the evening that recently they had parted with all the 
servants except an old housemaid, who would not go, and 
one little girl. Kate and Ellen, poor things, did the 
best that they could, but they were perfectly unprac- 
tical women, and their mother had the heavy end of every- 
thing. 

It made a lump rise in Susan’s throat to notice, as they 
sat down to a meal, that Mrs. Stair herself must have 
helped to prepare it. Her thin hands were dirty, and 
her rusty black dress spotted with sauce. 

“ Archie Hamilton is coming to-night,” she said as 


300 THE ROSE OF JOY 

they rose from the table. “ He will be hungry after 

a long journey; I must see that he gets some food, and 

that your room is ready. Janet told me his was all 

right.” 

She was leaving the room when Susan went up to her. 
“ You shall do nothing of the kind,” she said. “ I 
promise you that I will give him everything that he 
wants. Do, dear mother,” she said, with a sobbing 
breath on the word, “ go away and rest.” 

“ Rest ! rest ! ” said Mrs. Stair in a dreary voice. 
“ Child, it will do me no harm to be busy. How can I 
rest to-night? ” 

Susan took her hand and led her away. She per- 
suaded Kate and Ellen, too, to take some rest, and then 
with a sort of shudder she found herself alone. The 
house was still as death. The old housemaid sat upstairs 
in the room where Mr. Stair lay in his coffin ; the little 
maid had escaped out of doors, frightened by the 
gloom within. The house door stood wide open and 
some of the drifted leaves lay in the hall; beyond, 
through the open door, Susan could see the “ happy 
autumn fields ” and the blue line of the sea. She stood 
for a moment looking about her with a shuddering sen- 
sation of dread, then went softly along the corridor to 
the apple room — the room that she had shared with Dally 
on her first visit there. The blinds were half down ; her 
little box lay on the floor ; evidently no preparations had 
been made for her reception. 

She stood in the doorway half unwilling to enter, then 
opened the window, letting the air blow in — the brisk 


CHAPTER FORTY-THREE 301 
wind of autumn that came rustling across the empty, 
harvested fields. Leaning her two hands on the sill of 
the window she looked out, and the pure blue line of the 
sea called to her like a clear voice, “ a plain word ” and 
her heart answered. 

She turned away after a moment, and began to ar- 
range the room for the night. She found her way to 
Mrs. Stair’s linen cupboard and got sheets. How well 
she remembered the thin, fluted pillars of the bed, and 
the faded hangings with the design of green apples on 
them. There she had lain awake by Daily’s side and 
heard the brief spring tempest beat against the walls and 
shake the window frames; there she had lain with her 
child in her bosom, dreaming her dreams about her son. 

She wondered if she would be able to sleep that night 
at all. “ Who knows what dreams might come? ” she 
thought; then, hearing someone stirring in the house, 
she went downstairs to find that Archie Hamilton had 
arrived. Susan explained the silence and emptiness, and 
then she told him what Mrs. Stair had said about their 
affairs. 

“ My uncle will buy the most of the things for them 
— without Mrs. Stair’s knowledge, for she wouldn’t con- 
sent if she knew,” said Archie. “ I will stay and see 
that it is all right. I have five days’ leave just now.” 

He had returned from a long cruise, and was burnt 
by the sun, and looked thinner than ever. He spoke 
to Susan without constraint, and with no allusion to what 
had passed between them at their last meeting. Susan 
asked him if he was hungry. 


302 


THE ROSE OF JOY 

“ Mrs. Stair will be so vexed if you do not eat,” she 
said. She was leaving the room to get him some food, 
when she turned to him with quite a childlike smile. u I 
am going down into the kitchen to make you some tea. 
Have you ever been there? You may come too.” 

He looked at her admiringly, as Carrie had done, 
noticing the new peace and brightness in her face. “ How 
well you look ! ” he said. “ I think that the life at St. 
Fortunes agrees with you.” 

“ I have been very busy,” said Susan, hanging her 
head a little. “ I have been able to paint all day, and 
it has come to something ; it has surprised myself. The 
things are really not entirely bad.” 

They found the great old kitchen empty and silent, 
with the fire almost ashes in the wide fireplace, the door 
open to the bright sunshine that flooded the paved back 
yard. Far off, out of doors, regardless of the stiff and 
straight form that lay upstairs, enjoying all the more 
keenly the contrast of her escape from the chill silence 
of the house of death, the little kitchen maid was 
being courted by the plowboy behind the garden 
walls. 

There is in the best of us, on such an occasion, when 
standing by a sorrow that had not nearly touched our- 
selves, the involuntary sensation of relief. “ This time 
the blow had not fallen upon us” we say. As Susan and 
Archie Hamilton talked together there near the shadow 
that was all over the house; unacknowledged between 
them was the sense that the bitterness was not their own. 
It lent, quite unconsciously, a sort of cheerfulness to their 


CHAPTER FORTY-THREE 303 
conversation, as a storm without makes us draw closer 
around the fire. 

Susan asked Archie about his mother, about Colonel 
Hamilton and Juliet, who were abroad at the time. 

“ I had a letter from Juliet the other day,” he said. 
“ She writes very sweet letters — like herself.” 

“ Archie,” said Susan, using his name for the first 
time — she crouched near the hearth and shielded her 
cheek from the fire that she had been stirring up again — 
“ why do you not marry her? ” 

“ Oh ! ” said the young man — he turned and looked up 
at the ceiling, down at the floor. “ Oh ! ” he said again ; 
then answered, “ You know, I think.” 

“ She is beautiful and good and sweet, and I love her 
with all my heart,” said Susan. 

He did not answer. A long silence fell between them, 
the only sound the flutter of the fire, that drew itself 
up in the grate like an indrawn breath. Then in the 
stillness outside from the sunny courtyard there came 
a great cackling of geese, and the sound of a footstep 
on the flags. A shadow fell across the bright doorway. 
Susan rose hurriedly from her knees. 

“ There is someone there,” she said. “ That noise will 
disturb Mrs. Stair.” 

She went to the door, and caught a glimpse for an 
instant of a man’s figure, that glided round the corner of 
an outhouse. She paid no attention to it, but drove the 
noisy birds away and came softly back again, closing 
the outer door. The wind was chill; she re-entered, 
shivering a little ; her momentary cheerfulness was gone. 


304 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
“ Horrid, noisy things ! ” she said. “No wonder they 
saved the Capitol. Let us go upstairs now. Mrs. Stair 
will have come down ; she wants to speak to you about a 
number of things, I know. I will go and tell her you 
are here.” 

Archie followed her through the silent house. 


CHAPTER XLIV 


T HE sunshine clouded over, and a mist rolled up 
from the sea. In half an hour the sun had dis- 
appeared altogether and the sky had grown 
dark. Mrs. Stair sat in the library with Archie Hamil- 
ton, a mass of papers before her. Slowly and unflinch- 
ingly she had gone into the details of the breaking up 
of her home, of the sale, of the dreary future before her 
and the daughters. 

“ For me it’s nothing,” she said ; “ my day’s done, and 
my heart was broken long ago; but poor Kate and 
Ellen ! ” Her voice trembled for a moment, and she 
went on : “ Dally must get something to live on — he can’t 
starve. A brewer, I dare say, will buy the place — they’ve 
got everything nowadays.” Archie found the old un- 
dying grudge pathetic now. 

Susan went about helping Kate and Ellen. A man 
from the village had come to speak about the funeral, 
and she found that some arrangement had been forgot- 
ten, so she walked herself to the little post office to send 
off a message about it. All the brightness of the day 
was swallowed now in mist, and the early twilight had 
begun to gather. As she went on the mist thickened fast 
into a soft rain that brought out the raw odor of the 
turnips in the field. Susan had sent her message, and 
305 


306 THE ROSE OF JOY 

was on the way back when she saw Archie Hamilton com- 
ing towards her. 

44 Kate told me where you had gone,” he said. “ I 
thought I would come to meet you. What a sad even- 
ing ! I have sat with poor Mrs. Stair till my head aches. 
It’s all a melancholy business.” 

44 They were poor enough before,” said Susan, then 
hesitating a little, she added, 44 1 suppose that something 
must go — to Dally.” 

44 Yes, while his sisters starve ! ” 

They passed along the path by the edge of the garden 
wall. The great field of turnips stretched out before 
them ; above the wet leaves dripped and rustled, the rainy 
darkness seemed to gather close about them. A solitary 
light shone from one of the upper windows of the house, 
but all the front was dark. Archie halted suddenly, and 
turning to Susan took her hands in his. 

44 I did not come here to speak about the Stairs,” he 
said ; 44 1 wanted to speak again to you, Susan. You are 
going to-morrow when the whole thing is over, and I may 
not see you again.” 

Susan, seeing him stand there, remembered how that 
evening just before her marriage she had stood with him 
in a wet twilight and wondered at the look of pity in 
his face. How is it possible, she thought, that life can 
be so short, and yet that a few years can seem so long? 
She drew her hands away. 

44 1 have told you before,” she said, 44 that you must 
not speak like that. I have no more part nor lot in 
these things, even did I feel myself free to do it.” 


CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR 307 

He gave a sigh of impatience, and she went on, 44 I 
will not — I never would while Dally was alive, but even 
if I could the whole thing is gone out of my life. I want 
no more of it. Can you not understand? ” 

Archie bent his head. 44 1 am rebuked,” he said in a 
low, cold voice. 44 I’m not worthy to have anything to 
do with one so pure and holy. My perceptions are not 
fine enough to see the distinctions you make. I will go 
away and 4 evermore be silent,’ and the consciousness of 
virtue will, of course, be enough for you.” 

The watery light shone out again as the clouds parted 
for a moment, and showed him standing before her with 
bent head. He lifted his severe, singular face. 

44 Good-by to that, then. I shall never speak of it 
again. Will you not shake hands with me? Is that 
allowable? ” 

Susan stood staring at the ground, heedless of the 
soft rain falling thick about them now. 

44 Well? ” he said again. 

Susan looked up suddenly with a sort of gasping 
sob. 

44 Oh,” she cried, 44 do you not — will you not under- 
stand me? Do you think I am like that? Oh, Archie ! 99 
She flung herself into his arms ; she pressed her soft face 
against his cheek. She hung and wept upon his breast. 
Her coldness melted as a frozen river breaks up utterly 
with the tides of spring; she kissed his shoulder, his 
hands, his sleeve. 

The man stood still and silent, raising his face a little, 
with one arm thrown about her, touched to his heart with 


308 THE ROSE OF JOY 

so exquisite a joy that he could neither move nor speak. 
After a minute Susan drew herself away. She stood and 
looked up at him with her candid eyes. 

“ Now,” she said, “ I have told you the truth, and you 
will always know it, and understand I can never marry 
you. I will never marry you, if you should wait for a 
thousand years, and you must never speak about it 
again ! ” 

“ But, Susan ” he began eagerly. She turned 

and walked forwards to the house. 

“ I will not speak to you any more about it,” she said. 
“ My heart is like a harried nest ; I have no more part 
in that side of life. My sorrow is my own, and I can 
only live my life in my own way. In time you will for- 
get — men always do.” 

He bent his head and followed her in silence. 

The house was dark and silent as they came in. Kate 
and Ellen were in the library. Susan sat with them for 
an hour or two before they went to bed, then went up- 
stairs to bid Mrs. Stair good-night. She stood at the 
door of the room where the coffin lay and lifted her 
tearless eyes to Susan’s face. 

“ You are pale, Susan. This has been too much for 
you. Go to bed now.” 

“ I was going to sit up,” said Susan. 

Mrs. Stair stopped her. “ Archie Hamilton is there,” 
she said. “ He will sit up. I would have done it my- 
self,” she went on, “ but what is the use of that now ? ” 
She bade Susan good-night, and went slowly down the 
corridor with a heavy, listless tread. 


CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR 309 
Susan lay awake for a long time. She heard the clock 
strike twelve, and two, and three. The fire burnt down 
in the grate, casting the shadow of the slender, fluted 
pillars of the bed low down upon the wall. There was 
not a sound in all the silent house. Susan lay with open 
eyes watching the flickering light that went and came 
again, and she wondered at herself and the brief moment 
of abandonment she had experienced only a few hours 
before. Thoughts larger, higher than the poor pas- 
sions of a day, seemed somewhere above her — if she could 
only grasp them, she thought. She remembered her own 
poor little tragical story as if it had reference to someone 
else. “ * As we forgive them that trespass against us/ 99 
she whispered to herself. 44 Oh, I did forgive it long 
ago.” Her eyes were closing, the light died out, and 
she dropped softly asleep to dream that she lay there 
again with her baby in her arms. 

She wakened, all of a sudden, broad awake, in the gray 
light of morning. Something, she scarcely knew what, 
made her turn round, raise herself on one elbow, and look 
towards the door. She heard the old boards of the floor- 
ing outside creak under a light, slow step. Then the 
handle of the door was turned ; it opened noiselessly, and 
Dally stood there, looking straight at her. 

His face was pale and old and haggard ; he looked thin 
and weary. His quick, bright eyes met hers, but he did 
not speak a word. Then he came into the room and 
knelt down beside her; he buried his head on her pillow, 
and Susan felt him sobbing like a child. 

“ Dally,” she said softly, bending over him, 44 Dally, 


310 


THE ROSE OF JOY 
speak to me. Why did you come here ? ” But he would 
not speak to her, or lift his head. She slipped one soft 
hand under his brow and laid the other on his shoulder, 
and waited till his breath grew quieter. At last he raised 
his face. 

“ I did not know you were here,” he said. “ I came 
to look into this room again, Sue— we were happy here. 
I should not have come back at all, but when I heard 
about my poor old father, I thought I must see it all 
again before everything was changed. Don’t tell any of 
them you saw me; it would only vex the poor things.” 
He rose and stood beside the bed, holding Susan’s hand 
in his. 

She began to recognize him better ; his face was more 
natural now, and she knew something of the old grace of 
manner in the way that he held her hand. She looked 
at him, and he at her ; they found nothing to say. She 
could hear her watch ticking and her heart beating in the 
long silence. 

The morning brightened fast, till the moon grew full 
of light. 

“ I must go before anyone sees me,” said Dally at 
last ; his face worked piteously. “ Bid me good-by, my 
sweet Susan ; I suppose I shall never see you again.” He 
dropped suddenly into his old confidential tone. “ Susan, 
dearest, tell me, are you happy? Where do you live? 
Do they take good care of you now? ” 

Susan told him. 

“ Do you still paint your little pictures? ” he asked, 
lingering, as if he could not go. 


CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR 311 

“ I still paint my little pictures, Dally. They mean 
a great deal to me. Some of them are good, people 
say.” 

“ Yes, yes, I read about them. Kate wrote to me. 
They help you ? They console you ? ” 

Susan almost laughed, and shook her head. 

“ Ah, I understand ; I always did. You are an angel, 
Susan ; you look like one already — as if you had gathered 
the Rose of Joy. Do you remember what you wrote on 
the outside of your little book — one that I took with 
me?” 

44 I remember,” said Susan. 

There was a sound of someone stirring in the house 
below. 

44 I told old Janet to let me out quietly,” Dally said. 
44 She will not tell my mother. Susan, I must go.” 
Again he asked her, 4 4 Are you happy ? ” 

44 Oh, Dally, what does that matter? Life is so short 
for all of us ! ” 

44 It is, it is,” he assented eagerly. He stood looking 
at her with his old inquiring expression. 44 Do you 
think you can make anything of it yet? Have I spoilt 
it altogether? And I loved you, Susan.” He paused, 
then added suddenly, “ Ars longa , vita brevis. I never 
read it anywhere without thinking of you. Life’s too 
long for some of us.” He laid her hand against his 
lips, and then caught her in his arms and kissed her. 
44 Good-by, you dearest among women.” He was gone 
before Susan could say a word. 

She sat up breathless, pale, hardly knowing whether 


312 THE ROSE OF JOY 

it had not been all a dream. But now the broad morning 
shone outside, a clear September day. Susan went to 
the window and looked out at the pale fields and the glit- 
tering line of the ancient sea. It had been true, after 
all. 

He was gone, and she had to face the new day. 
That whole morning she went about as if in a dream. 
When the funeral was over she was going to return to 
St. Fortunes. She said good-by to Archie Hamilton 
alone in the library, where the table was littered with 
papers, and the old man’s wheel chair stood empty in a 
corner. 

He looked into her white face as she said good-by, and 
said with a queer little smile: 

“ I bade Dally a tender farewell about five o’clock this 
morning.” 

“ Ah! ” said Susan, as if she had been hurt. “ You 
saw him, did you ? ” 

“ Yes. It was an inappropriate place to meet in the 
room I sat in last night — I went with him down to the 
road.” 

“ What did you do? What did you say to him ? ” saiu 
Susan. 

“ Ask Dally — if you ever see him again. He would 
tell you, I am sure.” 

“ Good-by,” said Susan. She turned from him and 
went away. Mrs. Stair came with her to the end of th ft 
avenue. They stood at the gate together in silence, fir 
Susan looked back at the old house behind the circle 
elms. A twittering crowd of swallows had alighted 


CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR 313 
the telegraph wires overhead; they were just preparing 
for their long flight. 

“ They will be back again next spring,” said Mrs. 
Stair in her harsh voice. She closed the gate after Susan 
and went slowly back to the house — a black solitary 
figure on the broad white path. 


CHAPTER XLV 


F IVE years later Juliet and Archie Hamilton were 
married. “ I have forgotten, you see — all men 
do,” he wrote to Susan when he announced his 
marriage. The five years had passed quickly enough to 
her, for they had been filled with the work she loved, and 
“ the little pictures ” that Dally had inquired about had 
brought her a certain repute, as well as the more material 
results which astonished Mrs. Crawford. The outside 
world, seeing only the results, probably wondered why 
she did not do more, “ something on a larger scale.” She 
did not know their opinion or care about it. In the single 
devotion with which she followed the art that she had 
chosen, her heart was satisfied without fame, and when it 
seemed to her that she had expressed any of her thought 
correctly that was reward enough. Mrs. Crawford was 
plaintive on the subject; she considered her daughter’s 
drawings little short of grotesque (as indeed they some- 
times were), and why a certain public admired them 
and bought them eagerly was a mystery to her. “ I have 
had some trouble with poor Susan all along,” she would 
say. “ First that dreadful unfortunate marriage, then 
all the annoyance about knowing what to call her, and 
now her painting such singular things . If she would 
choose something more in the usual style, some pleasant 
subject — a sweet-faced girl, or even a landscape with 
314 


CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE 315 
Highland cattle, you know, but angels and circles and 
moons, and fiends even, and all so lightly clad, it’s quite 
distressing.” 

Susan’s old friend, Miss Mitford, had died some time 
after old Mr. Stair’s death ; and not without some remon- 
strance from Mrs. Murchison and her mother, Susan had 
taken the little old-fashioned house and got Ellen Stair 
to live with her. 

The prim garden was full of flowers. On the red roof 
edges a row of pigeons sat preening their blue breast 
feathers and gurgling in the sun. Two or three of them 
were pecking about on the gravel as Susan sat with Carrie 
Pewlitt in front of the house one hot July afternoon. 
The women’s voices were low, and the gurgling pigeons 
on the roof seemed almost to join in their conversation. 
Carrie had come with her little boy to spend the after- 
noon. 

“ I am expecting Emmy to-day,” said Susan. “ She 
has something very important to tell me, she says, so 
I must take her into the house when she comes, and hear 
it alone.” She did not know in the least what it was, or 
that the week had been a very exciting one for her sister. 
She had grown into an extremely pretty girl by this time, 
but Mrs. Crawford, poor woman, was destined to have 
little comfort in her, either. Emmy had “ only just 
begun to help her with the household,” she would have 
said, when she began to be disturbed about her. 

There was no plethora of men in the neighborhood, 
and one would have supposed that she might have been 
Mrs. Crawford’s right hand for years to come. Much 


316 THE ROSE OF JOY 

to her mother’s surprise, however, the young doctor who 
had attended the family during the prolonged visitation 
of measles had declared his affection for the girl. It 
was a solemn occasion. On the whole, Mrs. Crawford, 
after the first shock of the affair, was gratified. She 
wrote a note to Susan, which Emily took with her. 

She arrived, looking very pretty and very solemn. 
Susan left Carrie and the child in the garden and took 
Emmy into the little drawing room, so changed since 
Miss Mitford’s time. The windows were open, the blinds 
drawn down halfway; the scented air and murmurs from 
the garden came into the room. Susan took her mother’s 
note and read it with some surprise. “ He is not a rich 
man,” wrote Mrs. Crawford, “ but very solidly religious, 
and I believe him to be a thoroughly good man, although 
a little stout. He has the deepest affection for Emily, 
and after our past experience as a family I would welcome 
him as a son-in-law.” “ Though his name is Tolle- 
mache,” Susan whispered to herself with a sudden irre- 
sistible smile as she folded up the note; then she turned 
to Emmy in dismay. 

“ Emm}' — Emmy, darling, do you really think seri- 
ously of promising to marry this man ? ” she asked. 

Emmy was a good deal hurt. She drew herself up. 

“ You will always consider me as a child, Susan ; you 
forget I’m nineteen now — almost as old as you were when 
you married.” 

Susan’s bright face overcast suddenly as if a cloud 
came between her and the sun. 

In quick penitence Emmy seized her hand. “ Dearest, 


317 


CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE 

I forgot; I did not mean to vex you, but ” She 

drew herself up and looked very solemn. “ I am deter- 
mined to be wise — to have someone stable when I marry, 
Susan.” 

Susan began to laugh and kissed the little brown hand. 
“ Wait for a little, Emily. Perhaps you may find some- 
one quite as stable whom you like better in a short time.” 

“ He’s not at all reliable,” said Emmy, becoming red, 
and pulling her hand hastily away. “ He’s not much 
older than myself and ever so much more foolish.” 

“ Who — who, Emmy ? ” Susan asked, bewildered. 

“ Jack Hamilton,” said Emmy, turning her face 
away. “ He won’t be able to marry for about thirty 
years, he thinks, Sue — a middy can’t — and that is a long 
time.” 

“Yes, love, it’s a long time,” said Susan cheerfully. 
“ By the time you have waited for fifteen years, if you 
are both tired of it, you may marry someone else. Sup- 
pose you try that, and do not think any more about Dr. 
Tollemache just now.” 

Emily felt that she was not being treated with suffi- 
cient solemnity. She said she would think about it, but 
Susan noticed a tone of relief in her voice, and in ten 
minutes she was racing Carrie’s little boy about the gar- 
den as if she were still a child. 

Susan stood at the window, looking into the garden. 
She remembered how she had stood in that same room 
years before, looking out at the crocuses and tulips that 
were peering above the ground, the garden now full of 
roses and humming with bees. Carrie came softly into 


318 THE ROSE OF JOY 

the room behind her to say that she must soon be going 
home. They talked about Juliet’s marriage, which had 
taken place a few weeks before. 

“ Do you like Archie Hamilton ? ” asked Carrie — who 
did not. 

Susan made no answer for a minute. She looked out 
at the red roses blooming on their standard bushes, at 
the sunshine, at the smooth sward; then let her glance 
travel beyond the garden to the distant ridge of land 
where Striven lay behind a belt of trees. When she 
turned again to speak, Carrie was astonished by the 
bright, arch expression in her blue eyes. “ Susan is 
really pretty now,” she thought. 

“ Yes, Carrie,” said Susan. “ I love Juliet so much 
that I must like her husband too.” Carrie accepted the 
explanation easily. 

“ How different this room looks from what it did in 
Miss Mitford’s days! ” she went on. “ Poor Miss Mit- 
ford ! ” Susan looked at her. 

“ Poor Miss Mitford ! Carrie, I remember envying 
Miss Mitford once more than I ever envied any other 
woman ” (“ almost,” she added under her breath). 

“ Why ? How extraordinary you are, Susan ! ” said 
Carrie. 

“ Oh,” said Susan, “ I envied her at the moment ; she 
was so free, she had no ties in life.” 

“ I suppose,” said Carrie thoughtfully, “ people are 
different. Do you find other things satisfy you, Susan? 99 
She looked at Susan with pity in her eyes as she spoke. 

“ See, Carrie ; read that,” said Susan. She opened a 


CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE 319 
book that lay on the table — a little worn book that 
Colonel Hamilton had given her years before, when she 
first went to Linfield. She had read it for the first time 
the evening that she first met Darnley Stair. There 
was a mark against the passage that she asked Carrie to 
read. 

“ Here in the actual — this painful Kingdom of Time 
and Chance — are care, canker, and sorrow ; with thought, 
with the ideal, is immortal hilarity, the Rose of Joy; 
round it all the muses sing.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Carrie. She read it twice over — “ Im- 
mortal hilarity — the Rose of Joy.” She closed the book. 
“ That’s beautiful, Susan, of course .... but do you 
think after all,” she paused and looked at her curiously, 
“ that an}dhing would make up for a husband and a 
baby ? ” 

Susan stood in the doorway when Carrie had gone. 
She looked at the soft landscape and up into the un- 
clouded evening sky, still flushed from the setting sun, 
slowly fading to the short, bland summer night. There 
to the east, behind that belt of wood, lay the home of 
her troubles, the grave of her past. Behind the orchard 
trees, as she stood looking, the great white moon of sum- 
mer stole majestically into the empty sky. Like a faint 
murmur in the distance she heard the voice of the sea 
that beat so fiercely in winter against the walls at St. 
Fortunes Haven — the sea that girdles the world. 

Who knows ? Perhaps Carrie’s was the true summum 
honum , after all. There are two sides to every question, 
but in the brief hour given each of us in this vast and 


320 THE ROSE OF JOY 

interesting world we have time only to make a quick de- 
cision and abide by that. 

Each finds happiness in a different form — if finding 
it at all. Some in “ home in another heart ” ; others — 
Susan had gone with them — having looked on the face 
of Love, have turned away to follow after Knowledge 
or the Arts instead, and aiming at Perfection, with an 
undivided purpose, shoot their feeble arrows that come 
never near the mark. 


THE END 




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